by David Roderick

The not so scary monster.

A lone wolf in the night,
Jumps for joy; he has a fright.
As he walks around his room,
Thinking all, and aught, for doom,
He notes the key; he starts to sing:
His melody he shall begin.
Howling thus, from here to there,
His crazy eyes begin to stare.
He alone, a lonesome wolf:
Betwixt the crowd and the gulf;
The chasm, abyss from yonder there.
Is this a wolf? Where is the where?
A morphing mummy's corpse has flare,
But he has nought: his steed's a mare.
"Woof! Woof! Yap!", goes his howl:
Like a temeritous lady's cowl.
He's as frightening as a leaf;
Like a slug way beneath.
He bares his teeth, but shows all gums.
The lone survivor has no gun.
Patronisingly, he starts,
To menace with his steely darts.
His furtive glance, his starey eyes,
Shall terror from our mortals prise.
Starting thus, our car back-fires:
It's motor stalled, with deadly tyres.
Our innocuous protagonist,
Chaffs the corn, and eats the grist.
His icy breath has no puff.
He is so smooth. He is not rough.
He's as crawly as some peas:
As scary as a box of fleas.
Like a winner he has grace;
Even though he has their pace.
Unlike, a prize-winning turkey,
He licks his paws, and is so perky.
He's a chicken, not a fowl.
Let him loose: he's on the prowl.
He wears a pretty petticoat.
He's a castle with no moat.
His favourite colour is so pink:
A monster to our missing link.