4 Little Blue Monsters, A Hallow’s Eve Poem

Oh curse the dawn, with its
black skies and heat-seeking winds
when all else sleeps on this Hallow’s Eve
and I stumble madly in the cold,
hair wild and crushed beneath hat,
heedless of pajamas and slippers
peeking out from my coat like a homeless child
through the desolate lot of a half-lit gas station
in desperate search of 4 little blue monsters.

Funny the things that can make me wax poetic.