Monday, April 3, 2017


In the corner of the parlor
Lives a little blue man
Behind the lamp where no one’s ever went

He collects dust bunnies
And comes out at night
To tickle all us children in our sleep

He used to live in a mine
But moved into our house
As he didn’t like the mine’s Sulphur scent

Technically a goblin who
Would murder and carouse
He’s now just a disturbing, scary, creep

And that is why us children
Aren’t permitted in the parlor
For we’re the sort he most loves to torment

And at night we tuck our covers
In all around us tight
Since he doesn’t make us laugh so much as weep

(Poetry Scales 58

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