The train whistle, I hear it bellow through
the night, a deep, throaty whine, purring like
a beast in slumber. On my red bike
I follow the sound, watching as a few
figures rise from the shadows. They creep and
some even stagger. A man passes by,
his eyes burning with a vacant gaze. Why
I pause I will never understand.
He leads the scrappy band of beggars to
my neighbor’s porch. One bleeds from the head while
another hides in a crimson cape. Miles,
it seems like miles between us, but I feel
their knocks, slow and measured. The grey door peels
open. “Trick or treat.” The horn blows anew.