Tonight's Poet Corner: Pumpkin Face
Pumpkin Face
by Belinda Roddie
My cheeks ache as if they've been carved
to bits by something serrated.
You try to call me beautiful,
but I think that word's negated.
My molars are sunken like orange pulp;
my eyes droop like the dickens.
I may as well be left to rot
and pecked away by chickens.
They call me Jack, but I suppose
that Joke is more appropriate.
In the late October evening heat,
I guess that I'll just acclimate.
You stick a small fire in my jaw
and let me glow in twilight.
My job is to entertain the kids
whom to your door you still invite.
Their teeth will fall from their heads, too,
after all the sweets and candy.
So if they end up looking like me,
well, that'd be fine and dandy!
by Belinda Roddie
My cheeks ache as if they've been carved
to bits by something serrated.
You try to call me beautiful,
but I think that word's negated.
My molars are sunken like orange pulp;
my eyes droop like the dickens.
I may as well be left to rot
and pecked away by chickens.
They call me Jack, but I suppose
that Joke is more appropriate.
In the late October evening heat,
I guess that I'll just acclimate.
You stick a small fire in my jaw
and let me glow in twilight.
My job is to entertain the kids
whom to your door you still invite.
Their teeth will fall from their heads, too,
after all the sweets and candy.
So if they end up looking like me,
well, that'd be fine and dandy!
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