Jack-O'-Lantern
When I was a child, outside of Christmas,
Halloween was my favorite time of year.
I loved crafting homemade costumes from old rags:
to wear trick-or-treating in the neighborhood.
And yet, I got the most fun from carving
the scariest pumpkin my mind could conceive.
It was the only time I was allowed to wield a knife,
and I reveled in it: to me, carving pumpkins was an art.
Dad would drive me to a pumpkin patch,
where I'd pick out the perfect pumpkin:
worthy of my artistic talents.
And when I brought it home,
I'd start by slicing the top off my pumpkin
to gain access to its skull.
And with my hands, I'd scoop out its brains,
which felt mushy, gooey, slimy, and gross,
as I removed them: to sculpt my Jack-o'-lantern.
Then, with an eye for the hideous, I'd prepare to carve.
Creating grotesque features: I'd start by gouging out its eyes,
a deformed nose, and a toothy, grimacing smile.
When finished, I'd proudly present my monstrosity to Mom;
who'd light a candle and place it inside my gargoyle
then set it out on our stoop;
to guard against any evil demons
that may be skulking about: on this All Hallows' Eve.
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