I didn’t mean to eat
the whole bag – just
one bar, well maybe
just another
They were intended
for witches and pirates
and ghosts who roamed
the dark streets
And now I hear them
stomping up the front
porch steps, giggling
And shushing each
other – too late to turn
off the lights and pretend
I’m not home
My doorbell chimes as
if it is at Westminster
There is no escape and
I smile guiltily as I deposit
boxes of raisins into
outstretched bags and
pumpkins
“It’s better for them” I
mutter to myself