A hallow's night

A seasonal poem about Halloween night.

where are the sounds?
wet and cold outside...again
groups of less timid wander--some run.
parents are far more frightened than their little ones.
some shuttle their small cartoons and little monsters in
bright-eyed iron --steam and smoke rising.
but there once was another code
by foot only, I remember

the inside of my mask is wet
my breath
shouldn’t there be more sound?
no, don’t bother, their light is dimmed.


they start too early in the day
its a sin to walk by sunlight
everyone knows that ghouls are creatures of the night

but the smallest are first to arrive
by parents whose imaginations run wild.