Trick or Treat
a poem for Halloween
The box on the step draws them like flies
Little hands, skeletally white, reaching down.
‘It’s rubbishy chocolate,’ says John with a frown.
‘Never mind,’ says his mum, wiping mist dampened eyes
On her sleeve. ‘Mrs Goldstein will have a real treat.
You see. Either candies or fudge, all neatly wrapped.
Though take care or you’re sure to be trapped
In her sticky old web. She’s best in the street
For her tricks.’ The family holds hands as they hurry
Along, filling their pockets with teeth rotting gifts.
The mood won’t stay happy; there’s always a shift
As the cockroaches cackle and dirty rats scurry.
For what do you expect: this is Halloween.
It starts with a smile, and ends with a scream.