You must hear that all the time,
but you are, after all, a pumpkin. And no,
I’ve not come to carve your guts out
or wield a knife near your tough skin.
I’m a big fan of your shape and your
smooth texture, though your cousin
in the next bin over has the bumpies,
which are kinda witchy warty cool.

Tis the season, after all.

And yes, I’m one of those who not only likes
to fondle but also savors your flavor, too,
who buys pumpkin cookies and stocks
up on pumpkin ice cream. I fall for it every year.
Pumpkin butternut squash bisque. Apple
and pumpkin handpies. Pumpkin spice
rooibos tea. Pumpkin cream cheese spread
on a pumpkin bagel. Heaven. Throw in
a pumpkin spice cookie, some apple and
a slice of cheddar, and I’ll call that dinner.

So yeah, pumpkin, I’ll take you and
your sweet curves home and let your happy
orangeness infuse me when the costumed
hordes arrive seeking candy, not much
caring about you.

But I do. I’ll keep you as long as possible
on the porch, then plop you out in
the backyard by the fence, where you’ll
decompose like an old basketball,
enriching the soil to help next spring’s
flowers grow tall, where, with luck,
some of your seeds might take root
and pumpkin us all into another year.