the bogeygod

afraid you would
   smack my knuckles
   with a ruler, i
      kept my hands
            clasped
      behind my back
               and so
      you could not
      fill them with
                     grace;

certain you were
looking for me, so
   you could scream
   about all the mess
         in the kitchen,
      i
         quivered behind
         the door, hoping
         you would not look there,
                     and so
            you could not
            gather me up
            in your arms
            to wipe away my
                            fears;

taught to believe
   you lurk in the
                  shadows,
   prowling around looking
   for a way to get in,
         i lock all the doors
                and windows,
         pull the drapes shut,
         turn out the lights,
         and hide under the quilt,
         refusing to answer the door,
                     and so 
            the invitation to the party
            at your house gathers
                           dust 
               in the mailbox.

(c) 2014 Thom M. Shuman