The Monster Under My Bed
When the sunlit day is over and moonbeams come a’humming...
The Monster Under My Bed
When the sunlit day is over and moonbeams come a’humming,
I prepare myself for slumber, but dread what may be coming.
My bedroom is cloaked in shadow as a nervousness doth rise,
I await the nightly visitor, with terror in mine eyes.
I hide beneath a blanket, as if to delay my demise,
Because underneath this very bed, ‘tis where the beast resides.
My nose detects a rancid odor wafting from below,
The Colossus shall be coming soon, that much I surely know.
And then I see its 8-foot frame, a manifested curse.
The Monster has revealed itself, and now here comes the worst…
Its skin is sickly, slimy green, with eyes of yellow pus,
But to tell you further details would be superfluous.
It snorts a festrid grunkle with a breath of foul damnation,
How I hate the waiting; O! abhorrent anticipation…
It summons itself nightly, like a recurring fever dream
And hands me another flyer to come see his improv team.
This frunkle-chunk homunculus can’t get it through his head.
I thought I’d made it crystal clear: I am disinterested.
Like Sisyphus in tortured loop, rolling his uphill boulder,
I face this awkward nightly script, ‘tis my burden to shoulder.
The Monster brags of last night’s show, “the audience was enraptured.”
I ask if there’s a video; “No. The magic can’t be captured!”
For 13 months and 19 days, he’s shared this invitation.
And every time he comes to me, I give new explanation.
I’ve declined in each and every way, with voicemails and in print,
Despite these noble efforts, The Monster cannot take a hint!
And then this Beast doth burble on how his team performs so well,
Their dream is that all 12 of them shall be cast on SNL.
I smile and nod, then yawn a yawn; I try to be polite.
And that’s when the Monster asks me to come see his show tonight!
So, I fumble, and I humble and I thrumble to-and-fro,
While my fried mind tries to find a lie for why I cannot go!