Trick or Treat

Sometimes a playroom
isn't a playroom.
Sometimes a witch
isn't a witch.

Candycorn and half-eaten
cupcakes
A pinata with its guts spilled out:
spider rings, vampire fangs,
purple, orange and black
Thingamabobs.
And all the games have been played.

Except one remains: the Haunted House.

A clown
who isn't a clown
Leads a cloth pumpkin with legs,
stem bent and bobbing,
to the playroom door.

Inside: a woman screaming,
a chainsaw cutting through flesh,
and black cats clawing their eyes out.

Don't go in there! Don't open the door!
(And yet one does, following
the glowing back of the clown)

A bowl of mushy guts and eyeballs
A bloody finger in a box
Cobwebs above, spiders beneath
then
Boo!
The witch in the closet:
Beady eyes, warty nose,
long, mousey hair, and
Death in a locket.

She's suffered a fright!
Hit the lights!

The witch which
isn't a witch:
just a piece of cardboard,
body bending by brackets and strings.
(Aunt Kathy: the puppeteer,
laughing from behind)

Funny, how those fears never leave,
They just change form.

Sometimes a playroom
isn't a playroom.
Sometimes a witch
isn't a witch.