“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.
John Bliven Morin
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/monsters-20/
