Tall, lanky, muscle-less mess
Couldn't dribble a ball across the court if his life depended on it
Curly haired pubescent Nephilim
Always the last to be picked by either team
Neither knew
What I'd do
For a dollar
Or my tricks with Oujia boards and magnets
Begging money from mom and dad
To buy Famous Monsters magazine
Stills ancient even then of frankenstein's creation
Count Dracula, werewolf and wolf man
Terrifying beings from beneath the ground
Or coming down out of the sky
Grotesqueries so appalling
You had to keep looking, you couldn't stop
For all their mystery at least we recognized most of them
We loved some of them
Or maybe even empathized
They didn't seem as dangerous as my tormentors
Though they would surely frighten the living day lights out of them
Like a sordid copy of True Crime, it's pulp pages stained with ink that portrayed REAL death
I felt I was in unfamiliar territory
Dangerous and ever present
Hopping straight from the pages
To the real world
The walk home is always too long
To toss the monster magazine into the box that contained the other 16 issues I'd managed to collect
To put a record on the stereo
Lie back in bed
Stare at the ceiling fan
Listen to "Tubular Bells"
And try not to think of "The Exorcist"
Or the morons at gym practice the next day.