The days it takes to plan it right?
Three-hundred-sixty-four.
To plunder antique Med. school texts
And tomes on faking gore.

I sketched endless variations
Of the costume I would wear
With extra eyes or foot long fangs
Or bloody clotted hair.

By mid spring, "farmer’s Almanac"
Was memorized by heart;
My walls obscured by local maps
And forecast weather charts.

At night in dreams I sallied forth
To seek beneath the stars
That Holy Grail of Halloween
The full sized candy bar!

Dog Day’s of August drove me mad,
September crept in bits,
October’s first two weeks I had
Sporadic, ugly fits!

The thirty-first I watched the sun
Come up with mirthful glee
And stuffed my bag with rocks to test
Its stretchability.

At last the darkness came and I
Went out for tricks and treats;
I smiled as my loot bag filled
With tons of tasty sweets!

But when at home I poured it out
I wished that I were dead,
All that tumbled out were packs
Of ancient Lemon Heads!

The boxes yellowing with age,
Most sweeties turned to dust
"Impossible!" I howled with rage
And cried just fit to bust

"This is insane! It makes no sense!"
I caterwauled and wailed,
"You cannot toss a hundred coins
And only see their tails!"

But such is probability
That fickle mistress mine
Perhaps I shouldn't trick-or-treat
Now I am thirty-nine.

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