Image Courtesy ResidentEvents.com

To Kill a Pumpkin

Let me count the ways, 

pumpkins meet their demise,

in the upcoming autumn days,

when the hoary frost arrives.

Little ones are just cut off,

from their umbilical cord.

They become window ornament,

or porch side greeting gourd.

Most just have their,

head cut off by knife.

As if to look deep inside,

to check the seeds of life.

Many have the indignity,

having eyes, nose and mouth cut out.

And then, a flickering candle inserted,

giving an apparent eerie life, no doubt.

But some just get baked in hell,

with their mushy insides removed.

Making all kinds of pumpkin pudding,

richly gold and silver leaf covered.

Rest of those are grossly drugged,

with spices strong and clear,

for baking pumpkin pies prized,

and served this time of year.

Some are used for target practice,

receiving a bullet in the brain.

If one could find the brain at all,

when splattered all over the terrain.

Some just go to outer space,

by medieval contraption hurled.

They land with a mighty splat,

marked by a flag unfurled.

Worst of all are the giant ones,

their milk fed obesity growing.

Requiring a truck just to move.

Eventually, just self imploding.

Get ready, set, go!

Kill a pumpkin on the run!

No one cares how you do it,

just do it for the vicarious fun!

Copyright 2020 © Ronald W. Hull

10/14/21

You can read and print this poem at my website here.