I like drawing monsters,
even though they frighten me.
The problem is that last night,
my sketches all broke free.
They left my house to roam,
snarling up and down the street.
They’ll be an easy catch, though,
I never could draw feet.
I roared at all the cars,
I was strong and here to stay.
I destroyed a fence and bent a sign,
folks screamed and ran away.
I shrieked as I whirled,
I smelled like burning tar.
I’m only eight years old,
I really shouldn't drive a car.
I want a glass of water,
I get thirsty before bed,
I want a bedtime snack,
so that I’m sure I’m fed,
I want another blanket,
to protect me from the cold,
I also need a sword,
there’s a monster here, I’m told.