Ghosties

On TV, Janet Leigh
prepares for her shower
as I prepare Jack
for his personality.
I poise with knife—
I’m ready for my psychotic
break Mr. Hitchcock.
Music cues, you call.
It seems Norman and I
aren’t the only ones
up for carving.
“You coming?” you say
as though embossed
stationary had been involved.
A couple of eons and two seconds ago,
my mother asks what I’d like.
“Can I have star eyes?” I challenge.
“Do you want both eyes to be stars?”
my mother replies uneasily spooked.
You’re singing over the phone.
“Seems someone got an early start.”
Two minutes later,
Amy lobotomizes
as I size up the patient.
“He seems a smug gourd.”
Haneen, with Palestinian patience,
prepares pumpkin seeds.
Mom goes for sharpie
while I choose to freehand.
Norman just overreacts.
“You can meet us there.”
“I don’t have a costume.”
Lies and damnation.
My knife slips
and Jack looses a tooth.
“What about the nose?”
“A triangle.”
Back to basics,
I blew my shapely skills on the stars.
“Regular or upside down triangle?”
My mom’s the coolest.
Poor Norman.
“If I’m not there yet,
just introduce yourself.”
I don’t need a haunted house
with the apprehension of
that first un-rung doorbell before me.
“Whatever you want,”
Amy says and pops a beer.
Her goopy work is done.
“Fine. Square. Nose.”
Were you ever misunderstood, Mr. Hitchcock?
“I’ll just say I’m Margaret’s friend.”
No rejoinder.
The seeds are all they should be:
warm, crunchy, and way too salty.
Pass the Almond Joy.
“Two teeth on top and one tooth on bottom.”
I’m sick on dulce de leche
and X-Files marathon.
You call again.
“I’m running late.”
Vera Miles lets her rip.
Star-eyed and smiling,
clean-cut and satisfied,
snaggle-toothed and trepidant.
Wouldn’t hurt a fly.
“Trick or treat.”