POEM LXI: “TELL THEM BORIS SENT YOU”

It is Halloween
and I am about ten years old.
My parents have taken us to a party
with several bonfires
and a haunted house
and a barn for dancing.
It is dusk
and the moths are starting to float in the air
before a purple and dusty green background
of jo-pie weed and wild onion.
The flames snap and send sparks spiraling up.
The children, in their costumes,
school like fish.
The adults duck into a black plastic teepee
made of industrial sized garbage bags
from which the intense scent
of weed is emanating.
The “Monster Mash” plays from the dance barn.
And inside the coat room,
past the mountain of galoshes
there are shelves
floor to ceiling
stacked three deep with pies.
Strawberry, rhubarb, and peanut butter.

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