written by: Ken Allan Dronsfield
Why do I stare at that dark man
he’s back in those black, dreary shadows
down those thirteen steps, into the cellar.
I see his eyes, a chalky yellow, staring, glaring;
his teeth crooked and stained, glistening.
He fades in and out, like an old TV signal
I see him there, with his acrimonious grin.
Always on Sunday’s, before our big family meal,
sneaking to the basement, peaking at the corner
he’s there, he’s always there, always staring,
always glaring, forever daring; come closer boy.
But no, no, no, I won’t, I cannot as I have neither
the strength of heart nor pious virtue to oblige.
So it’s a game of wonderance, I go to the cellar;
watch the dark man staring back at me, glaring,
beckoning, “come closer”. All Hallow’s eve is
but a week away, should I go, no never! But,
then again, perhaps, just a little closer??
Ken Allan Dronsfield
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