Creepy Gnome Behind A Rake Poem by John W. McEwers

The corner store is on the corner,
and I walk there almost every day,
though halfway I speed my stride
because of the garden gnome on the lawn.

I know he can't hurt me,
and I know that he's not real,
but there's something about the way his eyes
follow me
that unsettles my stomach.

I swear he's right behind me,
and I can feel his breath.
It smells like grass clippings
and dead leaves
and sin.

Three days ago I took the rake
from the bushes nearby
and sneaked to the garden
silently, and silently
placed the rake in front of him.

Now he's in jail.