Under the Autumn Sun
A black cat is tangled in telephone wires under the autumn sun.
The moon waits, while the crows collect themselves in packs of six.
Midnight potions bubble under the neon glow of halved fireflies.
Her hat folds on top of itself as she walks from house to house.
Her face is dotted with freckles, disheveled black lipstick smeared across her chapped lips.
Her dress is dragged along the concrete, rubble skipping on the hem of fabric.
The pumpkin patch is overgrown, while the corn fields are being cut into neat squares.
A scarecrow is straightened above tractor tires and haystacks.
She is not who she says she is.
Now, the sun has waned and the nests are full of candy corn.
Smiles of chewy delights and the laughter of bunny headbands on top of hair—the night is young.
A black cat is tangled in the telephone wires under the autumn moon.