When I bought two pumpkins
I carved one, plain-faced, and set it low
by the rain-splattered stair
in the blackened night,
a weak candle trembling inside.

The other stayed whole,
a stubborn, misshapen globe
resting on the table a week,
then the porch,
and finally the garden.

Dust had dulled it; rain now rinsed it,
and here it is, wet, shimmering orange
against dark, dying greens
and sombre browns below.

The carved faced pumpkin
has long since slumped, collapsed,
a patch of orange folding
into the deep black earth,
a small, troubling proof
of what will come.

The skin will split. The stem will soften.
Rot will come, slow and sure.
It will fold and slump, then slowly disappear.

Still, for now, it holds! Round and firm,
a brief bright defiance waiting,
as I wait. Holding, as I hold,
as rain keeps falling.

#poetry #badpoetry