The All-American Halloween Poem

It’s like we’ve been having 
a forced Halloween forever
in this country,

what with all 
the villain masquerades
and stolen 

identities, what with all the handouts
we have grimly provided 
to unnamed shadows.

Ordinary folks sit at home
with the lights on 
afraid of the vague threat

of “tricks” as defined by men costumed
in camo, in blue, worst of all
in gray or navy pinstriped

suits. We give all we have to them,
and when we turn the lights out
for the night we still sit there waiting

for late, ominous knocking, for our doors
to be kicked in. The beloved dead
do not return to us,

ever; the ancestors
vanish in a haze of 
genetics and whitewash.

It’s All-American Halloween,
disguised as always
as the Fourth of July.

Though the dawn
is red, it does signal
that it’s almost over. 

Time to ask: Halloween America,
we know what your real face
looks like.  What mask do you think

will save you? What face
will you be able to hide behind
once our after party begins?