They appear everywhere as I dash through
town. The Yeti glares and growls, snarling mouth
large as a cave entrance, red hair askew,
slashed by a cross-eyed barber. “Why come south
when you need snow!?!” I shout. No answer. As
I cross the bridge, the Great Sea Centipede
slithers onto shore. Shaking, I speed past
screaming, “Scat, you cryptic cryptid!” I need
a cross or bible, but scurry unarmed.
On Main Street, ghosts and zombies lounge smiling
at sidewalk cafes. Spaceships portend harm,
levitating at traffic lights. I fling
my body into an empty doorway.
I’ll hide here till dark. Keep watch. Kneel and pray.
Roger Armbrust
October 28, 2007
