It used to come out in the evening
after a dinner table argument
when you least expected it
while lying on the floor watching a
Disney movie,
or while reading the players stats on the back page
of the Free Press sports section
there above you in the stillness of the room
silently stalking
stretched across coffee tables
hovering like a praying mantis
snapping your neck down with a single strike,
"Oh God! Help me!"
Calluses rougher than corrosion
on a junk yard fender,
cooked toe-jam simmering
sweaty and ripe
from standing ten hour a day
down at the Bolt factory,
wafting like fontinella cheese
that has festered in a storage closet.
You can't move!
Your nose digs like a plow's edge into the rug,
your teeth clench tight to carpet filaments,
(Dust mites run for their lives)
Your eyes roll white
into the back of your head,
your entire blood supply rushes to your face,
your lungs burn and feel as if they're going to
burst from holding your breath so long.
Finally you succumb
"PA!PA!," you scream.
"You're the greatest father
in the whole wide world! I love you!"
Only then would it release itself
easily
toes curled and coiled beneath the
skirt of the love seat
scanning the room
carefree and content
already knowing
who his next victim would be.
Welcome to my website!
