A skeletal hand was left on the seat Charise wanted. When she poked it, it scrambled under her feet.
Grasp our babies /gently, between
massive jaws / teach them / to chomp minnows / and toes
Peering inside, I saw
what might have been gray cobblestones,
rough-hewn stairs, old pitch torches
no goblins will glare out of dark cellar shadows because/
we all know, for quite certain, that monsters aren’t real.
There’s so little to eat, the icebox is empty
Is it too much to ask to dine with a friend?
What can you do but scramble for shore?