O’ withering Jack
you lowly schmuck
only luck kept you out of a pie
or worse yet pumpkin spice spam
or some sumptuous trendy latte, perhaps
or in the boil of some awful seasonal brew
no, you, are now just this sinking lump
a hump of rotten candy corn looking imitation
drooling out god knows what
from the corner of that hole that was your mouth part
drifting ever south
by the hour, ravens will not even peck
at your dead hollow eyes
in fact I do not think
I can pick you up in one piece
might I need a shovel
and dump you in the woods
like some mobster’s body
and then perhaps you may realize
your last final purpose…
to fertilize.
O’ my poor Jack
my creation,
my creativity birthed to fruition
your iron toothed smile brought fright
spawning shadows cast into that hallow night
seeming singular purpose you did guard
my doorstep walkway and the yard
for not even a black cat did approach
nor spells of darkness dare encroach
not on your watch my good friend!
but with the pass of october and leafy dress
that last candle must flicker down
and when all wax is said and done
your watch will have ended
my esteemed, my surrogate, the one
until next harvest, the one
notes… these are just for fun, just me throwing out some lines thinking about the poor sap of a thing on my stoop… seasonal and such… this is a continuation of a previous post…
Shades of My Garden 