A skeletal hand was left on the seat Charise wanted. When she poked it, it scrambled under her feet.
Tag: poetry
Come be an alligator
Grasp our babies /gently, between
massive jaws / teach them / to chomp minnows / and toes
I might be a dungeon
Peering inside, I saw
what might have been gray cobblestones,
rough-hewn stairs, old pitch torches
Nothing Fun will Happen this Halloween
no goblins will glare out of dark cellar shadows because/
we all know, for quite certain, that monsters aren’t real.
That Thing Standing Behind You
There’s so little to eat, the icebox is empty
Is it too much to ask to dine with a friend?
That Fish is Going to Eat You
What can you do but scramble for shore?
