Author Notes: This is a poem about life.
The lives of our children and the monsters who take them from us.
Would that all such monsters be identified and confined.
The Fog and the Smog gathered 'round
Blanketing this small seaport town.
A small child laid her sweet head down.
In her bedroom, there wasn't a sound.
Her family asleep in the adjoining room
A home full of love in the gathering gloom
The window to her room was open slightly.
On the ocean air, her dreams danced lightly.
When outside, something stopped just below -
A figure peering intently at the open window.
Though hulking, the dark figure silently moves,
Slowing inching the window up in its grooves
And there laid the child without a care,
Peacefully sleeping in the fresh night air.
It slowly enters and stands by her bed
and picks her up, a pillow over her head.
She wakes up in the monster's arms
Smelling the stench of its heated breath
But she is too tired to recognize danger
Or to feel the horror of impending death.
Then in a bush he chooses at random,
He takes his pleasure and has his way
leaving the body abandoned and broken
Her body dies and her spirit is torn away.
It lives in a cardboard box under a bridge
Near the corner of Cross Street and ShadowRidge
With children, it loves to roughly play;
A sickening game it reenacts every day.
A manhunt begins. Every suspect is checked
But for this beast, there will be no respect.
Police, FBI, and everyone in town is on alert.
They search every place the monster may lurk.
Another child goes missing, then another one.
It makes its nightly rounds, another night's fun.
And despite all the searching that everyone does,
They don't find the monster or his box because . . .
The monsters live among us
in the hearts of women and men
and there's no way to know intentions
before the horror begins again.