Alas Poor Pumpkin
Fat sits the pumpkin’s gruesome gnarly grin
snarling at the darkness… wondering just when….
when will come the demons…fat shrunken little men
fairy, pixie, witch…. flying super heroine.
Warily he eyes them – peripheral this fear
without ears he cannot see them coming from the rear
a candle burns within his mouth a licking tongue of flame
adds a glow to flickering eyes and slowly fries his brain.
As footsteps fail… the din subsides
the lights go out…. the shadows hide
and he, headliner of the bash
sits atop tomorrow's trash.
submitted to Itch, witch, glitch or twitch Poetry Contest
Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2019