He’s got ghosts moaning
in his attic.
Bogeymen boogying
in his closets.
Translucent humanoids
walking through his walls.
Shadow people dancing
in his bedroom.
He’s got a Wendigo in his
kitchen snacking on
salt and vinegar chips.
Bigfoot mind speaking in
his backyard.
Mothman banging his
head against his
closed lit windows.
Aliens trying to
abduct and probe him.
He’s got a wife who’s
a werewolf,
and a son who’s
a vampire.
He says it’s all because
his house was built on
an Indian burial ground
in the center of a portal
inside a vortex.
But despite all that
woo woo stuff,
he says he’s got
his head on straight,
and he’s happily married,
except when
his wife gets a little
crazy on full moon nights.
Bob Boyd