The Last Gobstopper of Halloween

We have to watch our uncle
More closely on Halloween:

I’m a m-m-monster!
He jumps out and screams at the little ones;
You’re g-g-gonna s-s-squirm in t-t-terror
When I get my h-h-hands on you!

Out here lookin’ like a fool;
We reel him in with the breadcrumb of more booze.

The gust feels cool and wet like a dog’s snout.
The wind shakes the Butterfingers haul
Out of small hands,
And chases the millennial parents
From the avenue,
Lit up with fog machines and inflatables 𑁋

When the street has long been abandoned by the Sun,
I sit out on the stoop,
Howlin’ black cat blues to the Moon,
And wolf down leftover Kit Kats and Gobstoppers.

MATTHEW JOHNSON

Matthew Johnson is originally from New Rochelle, New York, but now lives in Greensboro, North Carolina. His poetry has appeared in The Roanoke Review and Maudlin House. He’s a Best of the Net nominee, and his debut collection, Shadow Folk and Soul Songs (Kelsay Books), was released in 2019. He’s on Twitter: @Matt_Johnson_D.