Chris Yellow

Halloween Grinch

Knock... knock...

And I open the door.

What are all these masks for?

The night is fought
by candles and lanterns
carved from vegetables
in my front porch.
Loafs of pumpkin and spice
must reach the roads end,
the perfect bait!

A spider on a web over a face,
pale olive completion with hollow screws,
a surgeon holding a plastic saw and a brace
where dripping blood was reproduced.
All huge eyes and brightened teeth,
hands extended in gluttonous cheers
begging for candy and all sorts of treats.

A cold gulf of air freed through the frame
on queue I unfold my dark heavy cape
unleashing a flash bellow a bony square chin
curated with rice powder and gin.

With blood thirst in my ruby stare
petting my hissing black cat
with the lowest voice I can set
I tower over them and declare:

"Your costumes were bought!
You cannot contain your glee!
Take some paste for your tooth
that is all that it is worth here."

Before they could piss in their pants
I turn the door shut and echoed two laughs.
Well done Simba! Let's turn off the fans
check their picture and wait for their parents.



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