The Haunting
Some houses are haunted by murder victims,
Civil war soldiers, or melancholy brides.
My house is haunted by cavemen.
I wake to guttural voices,
And four Neanderthals cower around my bed,
Clearly disturbed by my clock radio.
I try to communicate with them
Using hand gestures, basic sign language.
They only shriek at me and wave their arms.
When I’m making pancakes in the kitchen,
They poke at the flame with see-through fingers,
And try to grab the pan with hands made of smoke.
I can’t turn the TV on because they hate it.
They think it’s a portal to the afterlife.
They think Everybody Loves Raymond is hell.
I brought in a famous TV psychic
To explain why they haunt my house.
He said they were terrified of my ipod dock.
I pressed him for more information.
He said they were terrified of electricity.
Also, fire, carpet, and the golden retriever.
He shrugged his shoulders,
And said they don’t speak English.
Then he went home.
All day and all night, they shriek and hoot and squeal.
They run around the house naked, flailing, wide eyed.
It’s not scary, but it’s very distracting.
No comments:
Post a Comment