Moon at Half Past Noon

The sun’s a painted papier-mâché,
A prop upon a dusty tray.
The sky is gray and full of sleaze,
A perfect backdrop for the disease.
The zombies aren’t in shambling hordes,
But sitting in the corporate boards.
It’s all tricks, no tasty sweets,
Every day is Halloween.

The ghosts aren’t chains and spooky sounds,
They’re dotted lines on survey grounds.
They’re “former tenants” and their screams,
Are buried deep in zoning schemes.
The refugees, a ghost train, flee,
Across a synthetic, plastic sea.
It’s all tricks, no tasty sweets,
Every day is Halloween.

The witches’ brew is price-indexed,
The cauldron’s of the oversexed
And underpaid, who stir the pot
Of a lukewarm, pre-packaged, rotting lot.
The treat we get? A clever bill,
For the privilege of the chill.
It’s all tricks, no tasty sweets,
Every day is Halloween.

The werewolves change at the ballot box,
Their true form hidden by the stocks.
They howl for war on every screen,
A bipartisan, bloody scene.
Their monster mash is crude and loud,
Beneath a mushroom-shaped, pixelated cloud.
It’s all tricks, no tasty sweets,
Every day is Halloween.

And we, the kids in cheap costume,
Drag our bags through gloom and doom,
Hoping for a king-sized bar,
But get a rock from the lobbyist’s jar.
The door just slams, the porch-light’s dead,
“Sorry, no treats!” the future said.
It’s all tricks, no tasty sweets,
Every day is Halloween.

So Happy Halloween, my dear!
The season of perpetual fear.
The mask we wear is a working grin,
As the real horrors fester within.
It’s all tricks, forever and a day,
There’s no candy, so you might as well stay away.