To Carve A Pumpkin

There is a fog that escapes from the wide mouth 

Of a creature that lurks 

Through the raw October air. 

Almost obvious is the daunting manner of its complexion, 

But only visible by the light sitting beside the pumpkin patch 

A lantern, 

Hollow with remembered glow. 

As night falls I shift foot positions, 

Walking between the pumpkins 

Picking the one that appears to have a sly mouth 

A sarcastic color 

One that is perfect to

Carve 

A smile into 

The deep orange-fleshed skin 

Smelling of organs ripped from the bodies of vegetables 

Not moving but still alive

Enough to alter its appearance.

Pumpkin, let me make a sculpture out of you

Let me twist your stem 

A feature manipulated by dirt 

Pumpkin, let me make you something 

Lovable.