While the sunshine cracks
through the dull, dusky morning,
a gremlin lies in my bed.
Its eyes like trodden dirt
squint against the morn’s light.
Its bushy curls lay frayed and splayed
atop a pillow of harsh autumn leaves.
Its cracked pale skin
burns in direct sunlight.

When it yawns,
the creatures of the forest
mistake it for a roar
and run for cover.
When it stretches,
the leaves on the ground
crunch beneath its weight
until they can crunch no more.
When its trunk-like arm falls
over that grotesque face
the gremlin shouts in its mind “Timber!”
then falls from its wake
back into slumber.

With that trunk-arm protecting its face
from the harsh morning rays
the gremlin is safe to sleep once more.
Or, so it so thinks.
But with every safe calm
comes a cruel storm
as with every warm night
comes a cold morn.

The evil imp is out and slinking about,
lurking, first far, then near
the gremlin’s cracked cave door.
Knock once.
Knock twice.
Open away.

In creeps the imp,
with its tricky ink eyes
that can spot a lie from a truth
a thousand miles off,
and its bony little fingers
that can slip through keyholes
to open any door
and its naked flat feet
that pad as loud as silence
across the leaf ridden floor.

“Wake up,” it whispers
like an autumn wind in the night,
cold and sharp, brisk and crisp
in the poor gremlin’s hooked left ear.
“Wake up,” it tries again,
cunning and sweet as anything and everything.
“Or else.”

The gremlin groans,
and chipmunks, squirrels, and birds begin to flee.
All but the imp
know to take the cover they will soon need.

Drip, dares the imp,
clever fingers wrapped around the water bowl.
Drip. Drip, dares the imp,
slowly and surely becoming more and more bold.
Smash, shouts the gremlin,
paw punched in the air and knuckles hurting tenfold.
Drip, drips the imp,
now just as soaking wet as it is freezing cold.

“I’m telling my mom,” whines the imp,
nasal voice, loud and clear.
The gremlin only flips to its side,
cozying and nestling within the dried leaves,
wrinkled back turned to its cousin.
The imp storms away, slamming the cave door with a bash!
And, again, the calm has been released from the storm
As the warmth is returned back into the cool autumn morn.

The hours pass like memories,
in that they are both soon forgotten
And (finally) out from my bed,
crawls a gremlin
as bright-eyed and bushy tailed as
…well, a gremlin.