My dearest Mab,
you haunting queen
of nightmare things,
I can hear your tip-toes
pad along
at the edge of my dreams.
Aren’t you pledged to bring me
peace
from the lustful lurkings
of hungry creatures
and their knives-out thrusts
for a bite
of my grey matter meat?
As I pause to think,
I recall the setting of this
midnight meeting…
banquet-beasts, hissing,
alight, bite or pinch
with fang or beak,
and shuffle impatiently,
waiting to be seated.
At each place setting,
in Mab’s flowing script,
the placards read,
“Let us begin the nightmare feast.”
©️ Obol, 2020.
