“You’re drunk again, George.” <br />“That’s my own affair.” <br />“You’ll wake up the kid.” <br />“I don’t friggin’ care.” <br />“Supper’s cold because <br /> You was so damn late.” <br />“Cold as you? Well toss it, <br />I already ate.” <br />“You fat pig, I know <br />You been with that tart.” <br />“Shut up, Peg, you rag, <br />Don’t give me a start.” <br /> <br />The yelling, the screaming, <br />The sound of things breaking <br />Alone in the bed lies <br />A little child, shaking. <br />The scary things which <br />Are under the bed <br />Which every child fears, <br />Or so it is said, <br />Like ogres and giants <br />And fearsome bug-bears, <br />Don’t seem half as bad as <br /> The monsters downstairs.<br /><br />John Bliven Morin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/monsters-20/
