Trick or Treat
(for Lilith B.— who likes this sort of thing...)
Mother overturned some worms
and as a treat, She said,
on Hallow’s Eve She’d give them
to the poor and underfed—
to the dreadfully costumed dead.
So when the clock to twelve had turned,
all at once they banged Her door!
And ’tho I’m sure She answered them,
and they were sure it was Her door,
they banged their own poor doors— indoors.
Wooden doors that fasten firm,
or doors adorned, for what it’s worth
they’re tall and narrow— all of them—
and marked with name and date of birth,
and they open forth to none but Earth.
She parceled treats that writhed and wormed,
that turned and squirmed and oozed with goos;
they happily devoured them,
although they sometimes got confused
to who chewed what and what chewed whose...
For when our Mother turns Her worms
—those sweetmeats underneath our feet—
watch out when She distributes them:
Her treats are tricks and tricks are treats,
and the trick is what the treats shall eat!
—Edwin Chapman