the perfect gown or mask or paint

Sometimes the Day Before Halloween 

 

is the best day in the year to grocery shop. 

A small Queen wearing a peacock-feather mask 

poses by the Honeycrisp apples. Scattered 

through the store, her Princesses prance 

in yellow, blue, and pink gowns. Two boys 

in the cereal aisle—devils or rock stars—

wear painted green and red faces. The dads 

are shopping today, trying in vain to fix a 

broken zipper for their Princess, or straighten 

a peacock-feather mask; the moms stayed home, 

feet up, tired after traipsing through stores 

to find the perfect gown or mask or paint. 

 

While driving home, I see a black man riding 

on the sidewalk in his motorized wheelchair. 

Dressed all in black except for a white-skull 

face mask, he waves back at the cars as they honk 

and wave at him. His plaid necktie, with a perfect 

knot, hangs behind him around his headrest, and it 

waves too. He passes a ragged old man dressed 

like a scarecrow, but his clothes are not a 

costume. His hands are full of roadside weeds 

and sticks he gathers every day to cook and 

eat. Even he takes a moment from his gathering 

to smile and wave his weeds as death passes by. 

 

[Jill Breckenridge, 'Sometimes the Day Before Halloween', from Sometimes: Poems]