She’s nervous. Everyone seems to know

exactly what to be. Someone grabs

a pirate costume, someone else a clown

suit, the plastic smooth and crackling

beneath their grip. Her little palms

are sweaty as the shelf clears, and her

mom is telling her, You’d better hurry

before all the good ones are gone.

She wants to ask, How do I know if

it’s good? What if she decides to be

a princess, only to find the glittery mesh

dress itches and gives her a rash? Or what

about a Power Ranger, but then its

plastic gloves chafe her arms

and the white boot covers refuse

to stay up? Her sister, having picked

out her costume weeks ago, says,

Nobody really cares about the costume.

It’s all about the candy. So she grabs

the first one she sees. It doesn’t matter

which one, only that the next day,

her feet are sore, and her stomach

aches with a dull pain that must

come after the sweetness.