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The Creature
by Bill Dodds

In the middle of the night,
in the part that’s known as “dead,”
I wake and hear the breathing
of the creature ’neath my bed.

Sometimes he growls and threatens me,
sometimes he only stares.
He’s big and mean and ugly,
and I shiver when he glares.

His B. O. fills the bedroom,
and his breath is awful, too.
His teeth are caked with ick and grime;
he should be in a zoo.

Instead, he lives beneath me—
it’s like rooming with a skunk.
The creature’s my big brother,
and he has the lower bunk.

Text © Bill Dodds, reprinted from Dinner with Dracula, published by Meadowbrook Press. Illustration © Mike and Carl Gordon. Any copying or use of this poem or illustration without consent is unlawful.

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