Halloween with White Sheets at Door Late, and they think I can’t tell who’s under them on my stoop, and they’re right. Maybe neighbors now— boys proud of their hoods, trick ghosts or real evil. I should shut them out, or jab at eyeholes, unmask them to the world. Still, I ask questions, bowl held behind, though I fear the answers will haunt us down the block like Where are your parents? Aren’t you too old for this? Like Tell me, now— who are you supposed to be? ______________________________________________________ Aaron Sandberg won't give candy to the Klan, if that wasn't made clear. His writing has appeared or is forthcoming in West Trade Review, Asimov’s, The Offing, Sporklet, Lowestoft Chronicle, Abridged, Giallo, Right Hand Pointing, Monday Night, and elsewhere. A Pushcart-nominated teacher, you might find him—though socially distant—on Instagram @aarondsandberg.