The little boy with the red hat
Stands beside the door,
Looks down to feet, then up again
Cold eyed. And I scream in the nightroom.
The creeping flesh and frozen blood.
The skin that sings from wrist to elbow
With the touch of unseen visitors.
Nerves taut and poised for flight.
Rabbit–twitch-eared, whisker sense–
Thumps the foot.
Tell the others.
The pursuit. It is coming.
The little boy with red hat,
Now beside the christening gown.
His baleful eyes speak of history,
Drawing near now.
Needle-finger finds the vein.
Aware but unable to move,
Watches. Waits in silence
For a dawn that never comes.