The Box

The Box

© 2013 David Jasmin-Green

Don't open the box,
because the best possible prospect is for
something akin to one of those
uggerly-buggerly face-huggers
to leap onto your face,
pop your disbelieving eyes with its wicked claws
and slide a well-lubricated egg tube
down your retching throat.

Don't open the box,
or its grim parade of contents
might tumble out
onto the naked floorboards of your humble abode
with a wet thud,
their deprived, depraved
dark-blinded hungry eyes flicking back and forth.
Myopically the evil little bastards
will scuttle and slither en-masse
towards the darkest shadows in the house -

under the sofa, under the bath, under the bed -

where they'll patiently wait for the moment
that silly bollocks is at his or her most vulnerable.

Don't open the box, Pandora, please,
or else all of Hell's most twisted hunch-backed nightmares
will burst into this so-called civilised realm
with a Ha! Ha! Fucking Ha!
a satisfied serpentine hiss,
a violent electrical crackle
and a worryingly a loud report.
You'll catch a whiff of burning sulphur
and the sickening rotten eggs stench
of hydrogen sulphide,
and then, I guess,
our peace and quiet will be over and
our blissfully ignorant innocence
will be lost forever.