Trick or treat
Throw the dice as to
Whether it’s wet leaves or dog shit
It all looks in the same under
The orange lights
You see the squared hedge first
The smooth slate path and
Treated black metal spikes on the front railing
Doing a good job of keeping out the riff raff
Cross the threshold
Half expecting intruder alert floodlights to
Bathe you…
Hounds to be released
And then approach the drawbridge
Press the bell
Wait for the silhouettes to appear
On the other side of the leaded church glass
It’s always expensive glass
Not the frosted shit with wire running through it
And the head shapes appear
Sounds of contentment appear
And Light warms your face
While a Log fire
And too-early-in-the-year mulling spices
Are inhaled
They offer a bucket of homemade candy treats
Tied up with string
And they smile and hug and take a family portrait
Or something like that anyway
Then the door closes and the penniless November night
Taps you on the shoulder
It points back over to the shining green-brown pile by the kerb;
‘Don’t slip on that.’
Dan Bowan lives in South East London and writes prose/poetry and short stories. He has been writing for over 15 years been published in various independent magazines and art papers. See more at: www.channelzeroprose.blogspot.com