Round and pudgy as a Texan that’s eaten,
one too many fried Twinkies.
The outer layer is smooth and clean,
from the faucets down poor stream.
Protecting itself from harm,
its prickly stem rises to arms

The smooth skin is orange and slightly discolored,
like that of a girl whose pastime is tanning.
Making the first cut,
its raw rich veggie smell hits my nose.
Silver makes angled triangle after triangle,
till the cycle is complete.
Prying back its spiked armor,
Its insides are exposed.

Reaching into the open wound,
my hand retracts a heaping ,
of squishy pungent insides.
Its seeds are separated from the mush,
and lined up like soldiers on the cookie sheet.

Clean linen washes away gooey remains
that speckles the outside.
The silver returns to cut two geometric eyes
and a crooked toothy grin.
Its ghostly white soul is topped with a wick
and dropped into the now clean wound

Fire lights the fuse
illuminating the crafted face.
I hold up my glowing prize,
awaiting cheers and applause
for my jack o’ lantern,
and its smile lit by candlelight