Maybe it’s me, but I can’t shake the sense
That the trick-or-treat children who’ve come through our fence
In the past couple years have been quite a bit taller
Than when I was younger. Am I getting smaller
Or is it perhaps an All Hallows illusion
That leads to this lots-fewer-toddlers confusion?
Your Harley Quinn outfit looks nice, but I’m sure
That the babe in your arms wishes it were on her.
Who am I, though, to judge? I have candy, they want it;
They put on the costume, they might as well flaunt it.
My only request is, please leave some for me?
(Not the costume, the candy. But next year? We’ll see.)
Oregon Ballot Measures
Expressed as haiku
Okays bond proceeds
For affordable housing
Built by private firms
“Groceries” just in case, someday,
There’s a grocery tax
Redefined beyond taxes
To loopholes and fees
Repeals law that stops
Local law enforcement from
Doing ICE’s job
Restricts access to
Family planning services
As herein defined
I am the sum of all my fears
And every time I walked away
Each cry to which I stopped my ears
Has made me what I’m not today
I bought a thing I can’t recall.
I have no memory at all
Of shopping for it or selecting
It online. Not recollecting
Items for which I’ve been billed
Is not unusual: I’m skilled
At navigating voicemail trees
To implement a credit freeze
But either I’m a total fool or
Someone’s rasa’d my tabula.
That’s my Hancock, J., right there–
I’d recognize it anywhere–
And if I’d known this thing existed
Likely I’d have not resisted
Its addition to my cart.
I like to know, though, ere I start
That I’ve decided to. Bizarre.
Mass shootings happen all the time
Without a reason, but with rhyme:
For thoughts and prayers and guns, demand
Will spike, but changes won’t be planned.
Still, best be safe: Shore up your stock
Of weaponry in case the shock
Of this one causes such regret
That we’ll do what we haven’t yet,
By which I mean, a single thing…
I kid! We won’t. Let freedom ring.
A walk-off home run
In the bottom of the ninth
(Second time around)
The other person running doesn’t
Like you very much. It wasn’t
Personal, they’d say, but you’re
Just unimportant. They’re not sure
You’re worthy of attention, though
Your vote is welcome, even so.
And, if we’re honest, we agree,
You’re blecch, unless you vote for me!
As someone who pretends to care,
I promise, our assessment’s fair.
This message stings, but I approve.
(If you don’t like it, you can move.)