Another challenge from the brilliant minds at the dVerse Poets Pub, and this one hit right in my wheelhouse. Normally, I find myself bending the prompts—twisting them just enough to carve out a darker view, a shadowed corner, a whisper of dread. But this time? The prompt practically invited me to go dark. Halloween, after all, is the one night where existential dread and absurd humor walk hand in hand.
I leaned into the surreal melancholy of suburban ritual, the plastic bones and sugar-fueled chaos, and let the haibun unfold like a fog machine on a front porch. The result is a piece that blends poetic narrative with a traditional haiku, steeped in the eerie charm of All Hallows’ Eve.
The Pumpkin’s Lament
October’s last breath tastes like burnt sugar and plastic fangs. The neighborhood is a theater of ghosts: polyester specters, zombie accountants, toddlers dressed as eldritch horrors with juice boxes. I walk past a yard where skeletons play poker under a floodlight. One has a cigarette. Another cheats. Somewhere, a fog machine wheezes like a dying god.
There’s something comforting in the pageantry. We wear masks to mock death, to flirt with it. We hand out candy like offerings to the void. The children laugh. The adults drink. The moon watches, bloated and indifferent.
I think of my own costume—existential dread in a trench coat. No one gets it. They ask if I’m a detective.
The night ends with a bowl of fun-size despair and a rerun of The Simpsons Treehouse of Horror. I laugh too hard. I feel too much. I wonder if the skeletons ever finish their game.
candy wrappers drift—
the wind whispers my name back
in someone else's voice
Halloween always offers a rare moment where the veil thins—not just between worlds, but between genres. It’s where horror meets humor, ritual meets absurdity, and poetic form becomes a playground for existential reflection. This haibun was a joy to write because, for once, I didn’t have to twist the prompt to find a darker angle. The darkness was already there, waiting in the fog, grinning behind a plastic mask.
Thanks to the dVerse community for the inspiration—and for always leaving the porch light on.
Thank you for visiting with me. For more Poetry or Literature related content, visit my blog at The Ritual. Copyright Mind on Fire Books.
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