On Halloween

I put on a mask,
hide myself twice over.

Super heroes pass by,
shoulder to shoulder with
their nemeses,

and the undead lurch
stolidly forward,
ragged under a sickle moon,

to stand in doorways
with the iridescent play
of fairy wings.

A whole legion of enemies
who have,
for one night,
laid down the sword.

Forgotten their hunger.

Imagine what could be
if, like them,

we tricked ourselves
into something sweeter.


About the Poet:
A member of the Maine Poets Society, Gus Peterson lives and writes alongside the Kennebec River.  Work has appeared recently or is forthcoming in the Aurorean and Northern New England Review, and online at The Lake and Clear Poetry.  A chapbook, When the Poetry’s Gone, was released last year by Encircle Publications.  He is currently working on a full length collection.


Photo by Lisa Runnels.


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