Will I end up as a demon after all?
Something so execrable
I move to the very front lines
of mothers' warnings to their children?
And who, pray, will warn the mothers?

Has the process already begun,
a slow descent from the decent
into the netherworld of the ungodly?
I'm not growing talons.
My eyes don't glow red.
But I no longer wish for the things I do
to benefit others.

There are people who claim to love me.
Will that prevent me ultimately
slipping into depravity?
And I have responsibilities
that need all my attention -
ordinary responsibilities
on that to do list for the good and reliable.
Will those keep me in check?

But a fly just buzzed in here
and I swatted it with my fist,
left the blood and innards on my knuckles
as a warning.
And there's a sparrow singing on the windowsill.
If only I had a gun.

And every time I lay my head on the pillow,
close my eyes,
my subconscious has me
stalking the shadowy back streets of the city.
in top hat and tails and flowing black cape,
like some latter-day Jack the Ripper
disemboweling tawdry prostitutes.

Yes, it's just a dream.
But, when it first began,
it was a nightmare.

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