Angry Villager Anthology--"Stubs"

[The twenty-eighth installment of the month-long poetry sequence that began on October 1st.]


"Stubs"

Marty Arsenault

The clamor of their procession precedes them--
Sounds like the mob's right around the corner now.
I sit here peering out of my office atop the theater,
Tearing, preparing, filling my bucket to the brim.
Each addition only reminds me of my losses this month,
The lack of patronage tracing back to the monster's arrival.
My annual Halloween film festival always drew the crowds,
But this October the townspeople stayed away in droves.
Some doubtless balked at being out on the streets late at night,
But most just failed to appreciate the posters' promised thrills.
Reality had trumped fiction, the screening of dark fantasy;
Who needed Hollywood when Grantwood sported its own beast?
But that's alright, I tell myself as I rip my fingertips raw,
Soon they'll all be funneling back through the Paradise's doors.
After tonight's eradication there'll be a huge void to fill.
Ahh, here they come now, passing raucously below.
So I lean out the window and upend my bucket,
Feigning good cheer as I shake out my makeshift confetti.
The people look up grinning, welcoming the colorful, fluttering stubs.
Let them all enjoy the devalued tatters raining down on their parade,
Because starting tomorrow ticket prices are going to skyrocket.