When I got home that night,
I noticed the smiling jack-o-lantern
in my front yard was crushed.

No October Orthodontist could
ever repair that ruptured smile
so crooked at its best, and simply broken, now.

I thought about our last talk,
jack-o-boots flying over hob-nail heart
and guttery scuttery candle-hopes flicker-fade

over cooling coffees neglected in the heat
of the moment, where carving knives were wielded
underneath the punkin-spice latte scents, and those blades

sent us reeling like Cinderellas at midnight
our heart-mice flying from Ichabod and his boots
and those words which left us out front, crushed.

***This was written to a poetry prompt…the first stanza***