I Am A Free Ride

The sad ghost of the pumpkin
shouts at me as I walk past the
wood porch on the fifth day of December.
“I am unhappy,” he says,
“you must take me with you.
I do not need a ticket,
you are a free ride.”
I can see it was a sad pumpkin
and did not like its porch.
I try to ignore it and hurry past
but my mind does not have an
electronic alarm to guard its premises.

The pumpkin ghost chases me
( I am one size smaller than courage )
all the way to the shinny brown chestnuts
that have fallen on the friendly sidewalk and I am safe,
but the pumpkin ghost changes into a happy costume
(Why does he do that?)
and we ride the quick merry go round
but not swift enough to slow fast time
into changing its mind or
light from leaving its littered trail
of dying daisies in the gray day.

I want a Candy Story! a Carnival! a Movie Theater!
but time, the fast monster
cannot be slowed by bullets,
destroyed by electricity.
It takes me ahead, back
to the school of clocks,
and bricks of mean maroon.
I yell at the teacher in her classroom,
the principle in his office,
the bully on the playground,
“Go away!, Go away!”
They don’t, they stay.