We are called.
We hear the voice, but see no one.
I think I used to know you once,
But that was a long time ago.
Even the gravestones can’t even remember our names.
And we are left to wander 
The restless people
The still-mourning people

They are called.
They run about the streets freely,
Laughing: “It would be great if we had no parents.
Wouldn’t it be great?” but they don’t know.
There’s nobody at home for them.
So they are left gnawing the heads of pumpkins
With their sugar-rotted teeth.
The homeless children
The jack-o-lantern children

No one calls.
And the fairground is deserted.
Nothing’s left but empty cages,
The wide grin of carnivore clowns
And the fast-moving carousel of my mind,
Dancing with my memories.
The still carnival
The colorless carnival

They all call.
Yelling as they come together
And bring a bat on the head of
A mangy, slow-rotting dog:  SMACK!
Will we really leave the world to them?
The brutal children
The predetermined children