Thursday, January 4, 2024

Bad Poetry: The Krampus and the Boys

 

 
 
Up the steps it goes
 
Hooved feet plodding
 
Long hands lingering
 
On the banister
 
Its horns scraping
 
The stretched ceiling.
 
Past the old dog
 
Who groans in his sleep
 
And the parents 
 
Who lie sleepless
 
Caught in-between.
 
There they are
 
In the next room
 
A small boy wrapped
 
In blankets;
 
A larger one
 
Snoring loudly.
 
He takes the sack
 
From his back
 
And opens it
 
A bottomless abyss
 
Into which he throws
 
The naughty
 
And not-nice.
 
These boys yell;
 
They beat each other,
 
They mutter obscenities
 
And promise retribution
 
Tenfold
 
On any who wrong them.
 
Their parents have their gifts
 
Locked up tight,
 
Lest they uncover
 
Their unearned spoils.
 
Father has threatened them,
 
Told them that the Krampus
 
Will come and take them
 
Down to hell
 
Where they will endure 
 
Unceasing spankings
 
And sparse meals
 
Of broccoli
 
And kale.
 
Bad boys that they are,
 
They have taken the wrong lesson
 
From what he's tried to teach them.
 
When the goat-demon
 
Pulls back the covers,
 
He finds that
 
The little one has 
 
A pair of scissors
 
Clutched in his paws.
 
The big one keeps
 
A screwdriver
 
With a sharpened tip
 
Wedged in-between
 
His crooked teeth.
 
The eyelids open slowly
 
Of the littlest
 
To see a looming monstrosity
 
Opening a sack
 
Of writhing darkness.
 
He lets out a yell,
 
A fierce cry
 
That awakens his brother.
 
Bonds forged 
 
In brotherhood
 
Do not fray
 
Easily.
 
The boys leap up
 
From their slumbers
 
And crash into
 
The digitagrade legs
 
Pushing the demon back.
 
It stumbles onto
 
The old dog
 
Who lets out a howl,
 
Echoed by that of the monster's,
 
Who has just experienced
 
The pain of a screwdriver
 
Plunged into a knee.
 
Down the stairs he goes,
 
Having been sent
 
By two hearty pushes
 
Tumbling stair to stair,
 
The horns sundering,
 
The whole facade crumbling
 
As his body
 
Lies in a broken heap
 
In the entryway.
 
"We killed the Krampus!"
 
The boys yell in triumph.
 
Father rushes out of bed
 
And stands at the top
 
Of the landing
 
Horror spreading across his face.
 
"Boys," he says,
 
"What the hell did you do to Steven?"
 
 

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