It’s been sagging,
slowly browning,
and it looks
just like I’m frowning.
On the stem I’ve pinned
some paper pines—
they help the stink,
I think.
But these trees
can’t hide the funk in-
side this sad and
sunken punkin.
Time to ride my horse
and park it
at the Sleepy Hollow Market.
But! Too late
do I remember
It’s the first day
of November,
and the stock boy
at the store
Says, “There’s no
pumpkins anymore.”
So, now he delves
into the shelves
to see what sort
of fruit might suit.
Alas, I hate the color of the lime.
The orange is orange but doesn’t rhyme.
The kiwi is too peewee—there’s no space to carve a face.
And it seems that I’ve forgotten:
Every fruit, in time, goes rotten.
Every gourd, ignored, will—
Wait, what’s this?
What has the stock boy gotten?
Perfect! Bold,
But not too drastic.
When they ask,
“Paper or plastic?”
I just shake my headless head
and say I’ll wear it home instead:
a can of never-spoiling,
always chilling,
EasyPie-brand
pumpkin filling.
Text and illustrations from FRANKENSTEIN TAKES THE CAKE, copyright © 2008 by Adam Rex, posted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. All rights reserved.
