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.