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.
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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