It Poem by Blake Foxx

IT sits there,
long limbs portuding over
the arm of the chair.

A wicked grin across IT's face.
IT beckons me closer, only a
fool dare listen. But persistently
IT beckons and with a shy smile,
I advance.

IT doesnt seem so bad, a smile
is a good sign at least. I slowly
calm my nerves and reach out...

My clamy hands grasping the surface.
My smile grows and I gently pull the
toy down to me, scurrying off to my room.