Thursday Poem (Halloween)

It’s coming down the tracks
and I hear the loud howl getting louder,
the same way I hear you
when you finally work up the nerve
to make your own ghostly sound.

It’s coming down the pike
with all the roaring rush coming closer,
the same way you sound
coming home on your own, all candy chatter,
but needing me to pull your tights off
still.

It’s coming.

Someday you won’t hold my hand on the street,
or grab my thigh when the scary music blares,
or ask me if you can have more.
Someday you won’t tell me how very, very sad it is
to pack the costumes away,
or how you wish this night could last forever,
or how you think I am the nicest, most scariest of them all.
Someday you might feel those things,
but you probably won’t tell me.

It's rushing through the trees
and I feel the shaking shift down to my toes.
In the same way I know that
winter is coming afterall,
I know you are changing too:

before my eyes, like magic,
in all your October costumes –

wipe off the make-up and you’re gone.