About Face
By: Copper Rose

A band of determined villagers,
on the night of Halloween,
struck out for the biggest pumpkin patch
their eyes had ever seen.

With daggers and with lancets
gleaming in the moon's bright light
the villagers tiptoed silently
with no witnesses in sight.

Within minutes they had cut
the tops off every head—
spilled the guts upon the ground,
left them all for dead.

The carnage in the pumpkin patch
resembled a third world war—
something, it was whispered,
folks had never seen before.

Chopped and hacked with pieces strewn
about the dying vines
sent a message loud and clear
by the evidence left behind—

Grimaces carved in lieu of mouths
triangles replaced their eyes—
never trust those pumpkins
if they have access to sharp knives.


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