it won't be long,
one pumpkin
says to the other
sitting plump
and orange
in the cold field
still attached
to the wiry
vine. they'll be
coming soon take
us. to set us on
their porches.
ghoulish faces
carved into
our skin, our seeds
and guts tossed
aside for a candle
to burn. then
the hooligans
with their bats
smashing us
into smithereens.
I hate that band
one pumpkin says,
and the whole patch
sighs. all year
we are ignored
one says, but better
I guess,
to be loved once
than to always
be denied.
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