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An illuminated skull decorates our lobby
across from a full-size skeleton with airy pelvis
and protruding ribs lounging on the couch. 

Every fall holiday brings us closer to the time
undertakers will beg off jury duty for hardship
claiming their January rush. 

Central Park’s reckless final blaze of leaves
says again that nature works in cycles: death
comes with winter.  And no distracting plastic bones 

Thanksgiving feasts, December shopping sprees
ornamented tinseled trees or champagne toasts
will stave off January’s sirens.

Patricia Behrens lives in New York City in an apartment building whose residents love to celebrate Halloween. Her poetry has appeared in print and online, including in Nasty Women Poets, An Unapologetic Anthology of Subversive Verse and most recently in Split Rock Review.

© 2021, Patricia Behrens

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