Monsters Poem by John Bliven Morin

“You’re drunk again, George.”
“That’s my own affair.”
“You’ll wake up the kid.”
“I don’t friggin’ care.”
“Supper’s cold because
You was so damn late.”
“Cold as you? Well toss it,
I already ate.”
“You fat pig, I know
You been with that tart.”
“Shut up, Peg, you rag,
Don’t give me a start.”

The yelling, the screaming,
The sound of things breaking
Alone in the bed lies
A little child, shaking.
The scary things which
Are under the bed
Which every child fears,
Or so it is said,
Like ogres and giants
And fearsome bug-bears,
Don’t seem half as bad as
The monsters downstairs.