Poem: "Sticky Fingers"
This poem was inspired and sponsored by janetmiles, who wondered how our monster friends were settling into their new house. Series sponsor ladymondegreen. It's a sequel to " Eviction, Noticed" and " Home Shriek Home." Just when you thought things might quiet down, unexpected developments ensue...
Sticky Fingers
Our snug little Victorian house had become a home,
blanketed in early January with an inch of snow.
My wife-to-be sat at the table, making out a guest list
for the engagement party. The little old lady ghost
silently pointed out typos with a transparent fingertip.
The timer pinged and I pulled out a tray,
happy to have adopted my sweetheart's custom
of baking sticky buns on Sunday mornings,
thick with orange sauce and cinnamon.
I did not mind feeding my girl as she worked,
her hands busy on the laptop, her tongue
cleaning the sauce from my fingers.
Glancing down, I noticed
that she was just starting to show,
the top button of her blue jeans left undone.
As I headed for the living room, the dragon
wrapped around the radiator rolled a gas-blue eye
and opened his mouth. Smiling, I went back
to fetch him a sticky bun.
"You know, if you keep feeding him,
he'll just keep begging," said my girl,
not looking up from her guest list.
"Well, he's more use than a guard dog," I said.
"It's not like we can't spare him a few bites."
That night I was proven right
as a sudden flurry of noise brought us out of our bed.
Flipping on the lights, I found a hysterical burglar
pinned to the living-room floor.
The radiator dragon coiled, hissing, around his ankles.
Both hands were glued to the boards by blobs of ectoplasm
as the little old lady ghost delivered a silent scolding.
Just out of reach lay a pillowcase and our glass jar of pizza money.
Meanwhile the bogeyman and the lurking shadow
stood over the cringing man, arguing over
who should get to tear out his heart and eat it.
"Wow, this almost seems superfluous,"
said my wife-to-be as she aimed her gun.
Even with her belly hanging over her panties
and her tank top sliding off one shoulder,
she looked terrifying. The lurking shadow
backed respectfully out of her line of fire.
I stopped the bogeyman just before
his pale, clawed hand touched the burglar's chest.
"I think this fellow will be more use to us alive,"
I said. "We're going to let him go ..."
My girl snickered as she caught on,
then nudged the burglar with her gun barrel.
"He's going to tell all his friends to
leave this house alone."
The burglar nodded so hard that his hat fell off.