The Skull Poem by Ima Ryma

My parents bring home a brass skull
That they bought at an estate sale.
Its finish is dirty and dull,
And it smells very old and stale.
They say that they plan to restore
The skull back to as good as new.
I can feel its sightless eyes bore
Into my mind, seeking to do
Devilish things upon myself.
I go and get a snack instead.
The skull sits on a kitchen shelf.
I head upstairs to go to bed.

I wake up. On my chest I see
The skull, its eyes staring at me.