I watch those kids
floating by under sheets
and I wonder how many of them have feet
How many of them are corporeal
and able to consume the candy they collect.
It can’t be all of them,
I think.
There’s got to be some lost little soul
that tags along,
just for tonight.
Who remembers
the ritual
of sticky fingers and
porch lights.

I look on my bowl
of sweets
and wonder if I betray
my age.
That the treats that I offer
that I don’t know what kids eat nowadays.

I remember the ritual too
but these bones are almost dust.