The Old Junk Room

25041509022_ef85d0654a_z
“Cottonmouth 1” by DMangus, CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

The Old Junk Room

Grandpa closed the door,
and shooing me away
said, “Stay away from there.
“That room’s no place to play.”

Musty, junk-filled room,
where dusty webs and grime
and shapeless piles loomed,
just begging to be climbed.

“There are snakes in there,”
he said, and he would know.
He smiled, roughed my hair,
“Now off to bed you go.”

Scrambling into bed,
mere feet away from it,
that room so filled with dread,
I hid ‘neath Grandma’s quilt.

No attic for the junk,
no storehouse for the heaps.
Against the room I shrunk,
fearing slithering creeps.

Yellow porchlight poured,
through curtains hanging slack,
across the thin wood door
that held the serpents back.

What evil, out of view,
with belly to the floor,
would silent slither through
the gap beneath the door?

Drowsy from the day
In bed while nightmares crawled
I slept, which is to say,
I didn’t sleep at all.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s