In Servitude

A very small child came to my house last night
Holding out his bag
Begging for candy
Threatening trick or treat.
He wore black pants
White dress shirt
Skinny black tie
And a sparkling plastic Mitt Romney mask.
He looked up at me
Staring through vacant black eye holes,
Appearing just as spellbound and drugged
As the last missionaries to ring my doorbell.
The child's parents stood smugly on the sidewalk,
Arms folded, proud of their kid's costume
Their idea
Their message to the neighborhood.
No 7-year-olds ask to mock a presidential candidate on Halloween.
None clamor to pose as a Mormon.
They long to be Superman or Spider-Man or Harry Potter.
But this boy, in servitude, was forced to do his
Parents' bidding.
I smiled at the boy
Threw chocolate in his bag
And waved to his parents, pathetic and weak.

© Poem Fix 2012

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