monster, a poem

the birds are chirping outside my car window

but other than that,

the silence is like a blanket over me.

I embrace it,

thinking of the baby

who cries through the night

waiting patiently at home

for me to get off work

so he can further dominate my life.

I then think back to when my father would tell me

there weren't any monsters in my room.

he checked behind the creaky closet door,

under the dark side of the bed

which was guarded by a dust ruffle,

and he even stilled the rippling curtains

swearing it was the air conditioning

causing the movement,

but he didn't have the balls

to tell me the truth.

To tell his son

that he, my father, was looking the monster directly in his eyes,

because in fact

I now know the monster hiding in my room

was me.

There will come a day

when my son,

the grumbling

and midnight moaning monster,

will ask me to check his room

and I will do nothing

but hold a mirror to his face.

I sat up in my car seat

and began rolling the window up,

the birds still chirping

but now all I could hear

was a haunting

as the baby birds

cried for their papa

to check the nest for monsters.

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