Emily Murman
HAUNTED HOUSE
so this is what it feels like
to enjoy controlled sensory overload.
it’s slipping past dead dummies
swaying in plastic bags spattered w/
fake blood & something the color of puke.
chartreuse. you are mincing in front of me
trying not to trip on tiptoes.
a low-pitched air horn blares,
splaying the hair around my ear.
even though I live for this shit,
it’s a tight fit for two autistics.
I feel the warm strobes on my face.
the churning fog is so thick
that the axe murderers lurking
in our sweet, plasticky cloud
don’t even register at all.
I can feel your arm around
me. I can feel thumps
from other bug-a-boos
around, urging us along.
here come those uninhibited freaks.
let us be more like them.