Monsters under the Bed

They are still there, even now, hiding

under my bed, after dark and the lights

are turned out, the room quiet save

for the steady tick of my clock, too quiet,

and, listening, because I know they are there,

I hear them waking, rustling about, their breathing

begun with a snort, a reminder they are here, still,

a low growl growing, a long crescendo, a silent scream.

They have followed me from childhood, survived

my teen years and the transition into adulthood,

marriage and children, countless jobs and moves

and that one last move into retirement, always here

under my bed, ready to grab my legs or arms reaching

under, pulling me into the darkness where they live,

abiding, an abode among the dust bunnies, the lost

shoes and shirts where I dare not look, and the bones

of those before me, less fortunate, thrusting themselves

below to look, to see for themselves who is there, to discover

the truth awaiting them, waiting there, patiently, now,

for me; those fears I’ve always had, always are, always

will be, for that is the nature of fear, those demons lurking

in the dark, under my bed, fear manifested, still there, still

waiting, and I am still afraid, still hearing them under my bed.

Goodnight, my old dark friends, come with me,

hand in hand, into tomorrow, into the daylight, less afraid.