Miscreant

Strolling an alley ere darkness could complete,
The strangest and spookiest thing occurred—
I discerned the weirdest and eeriest rumble…
It sounded quite chilling. It was nearly unheard.

I decided to pause, for we all make mistakes
And I must have been just a speck overdue.
While tiptoeing aside I experienced quakes:
My body shuddered like World War Two.

Back then it was practically raining bombs,
And the earth would tremble at every blast.
I didn't expect to live pages of History
When I entered an alley far from the Past.

Something was stirring the gloom of that lane,
And I didn't have the sense of a bird to take flight.
My feet stepped forward as if lacking a brain—
But then I am more intelligent with a little height.

Lower limbs were flimsier than stalks of corn
Since I had no weapon in case of grave peril.
There were only bare fists and a tendency to snark,
So I leaned on my scornfulness and hissed as if feral.

"Who's there? Come out, you denizen of dreck!"
I thought myself clever. It was not very kind.
An actual person might take great offense…
In this case what I met proved aptly defined.

Disrupting a large stack of discarded rubbish
With an attitude of vim and malicious uproar,
A creature crept slyly from where it had slept
To meet whoever dared interrupt a good snore.

That fool was I, though I wished for a moment
I could disappear, trade places with another.
In the crink of an eye your entire perspective
Can polar-shift as if a shoe on the other—

And druthers somersaulted in nothing flat.
A cat heart transformed to a bird in a cage
Fluttering with fright. Knees turned to Linguine.
My tongue grew thicker than a mouthful of rage.

The challenge still echoed (at least in my ears).
What a truly idiotic thing to sputter!
On a whim I had chosen to poke a beastie—
Out of all the supercilious flap I could utter!

The miscreant, a bramble of bristles and distemper,
Sprouting tusks, hairy limbs, a nose-horn to boot,
Regarded me as if he were the Earl Of Surly.
Weighing my options, I stood a tad moot…

Hoping the misanthrope might overlook my nerve,
Imagine himself dreaming, ignore me like a post.
These were the less grotesque possibilities.
Crossing my fingers, I pretended to be a ghost.

In the wilds of the world it is standard procedure
To avoid eye-contact with certain snarlies.
Mine were sealed tighter than a fortress or vault
As I confronted the worst of unpleasant gnarlies!

While frozen that rigid, quite unable to flee,
I anticipated probable mauling and maims;
Potential contusions, abrasions and bruises;
A lot of rude battery, rough tumbles and shames.

There was very little chance of surviving in fact,
Unless I could summon a fighting chance…
A snippet of courage, an ounce of prevention;
A smidge or two of fortitude instead of a trance!

Cracking my blinkers, I peeped in surprise.
The creature up and vanished, no thanks to me.
It appeared he decided I wasn't worth the bother and
Slunk back to his hideaway in the depths of debris.

Lori R. Lopez is an author, poet, illustrator, and wearer of hats. Verse and stories have appeared in a variety of magazines and anthologies including Weirdbook, The Horror Zine, The Sirens Call, Spectral Realms, Space & Time, Illumen, Altered Reality, California Screamin’ (Foreword Poem), and several HWA Poetry Showcases. Books include The Dark Mister Snark, Leery Lane, An Ill Wind Blows, The Fairy Fly, and Darkverse: The Shadow Hours (nominated for an Elgin Award). Some of Lori’s poems have been nominated for Rhysling Awards. You can learn more about her at the website shared with two talented sons: https://www.fairyflyentertainment.com

Find more by Lori R. Lopez in the Author Index.