The White Worm

The white worm left his lair.

Well he had to at some point

if he was to inspect the neighbourhood

to see what was what,

who was coming,

who was going

and there was no way

that he would keep 

to Bram Stoker’s script,

no way at all

he’d always been a rebel.

But he didn’t know about the dare,

didn’t know she was lying in wait,

waiting to leap on his back,

waiting to be taken for a ride

off piste


by the man in red

keeping check

that she obeyed the rules.

The wormed turned

his head in alarm.

If only he’d kept to the script.

If only he’d stayed safe

at home.


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