It seems odd to celebrate fake fear
When real threats are all too near,
As we have been told through the year,
And many months before.
It seems odd to put kids in masks
When much has been made of the tasks
Of stopping crime, but no one asks
About the coming "more."
It seems odd to pump full of sweets
Children we bemoan that treats
Are too much what each one eats,
But I'll go to the store.
It seems odd I on holidays
Seem to seek out sundry ways
That I can not while others play--
But, then, I am a bore.