The Man in My Bedroom

Thirties suburban box room. Bed

by the window with a daytime view

of the landing through the door ajar.

Cosy and safe for children’s dreams.

A faint smell of kerosene drifts out

from the wick of a meagre nightlight

filling the room with flickering shadows

congregating inside the dark corner.

The framed view of the landing at night

becomes the entrance of a dark cavern.

No street light penetrates the curtains.

The shadow takes shape. He’s there again.

The house fills with a child’s scream.

Lights flip on, murmurs cross the landing

The sound of soft footsteps brings warm

arms. Mother’s love is stronger than him.