Goblin

Oh, you frog-mouthed man
with gold ball eyes,
stop! stop right now!
You do nothing

but tickle me all day
in places that are not mentionable.
First, it's in the linen closet,
next it's under the chiffonier.

Then you catch me
as I am stepping
out of the shower,
popping out from under a towel

and ponking me on a private place.
Later you slide down
the backs of my kneecaps,
though I believe you are trying

to climb back up the other direction.
(You stare at my elbows
as you scrabble in the vicinity
of my gluteus maximus.)

I would call it tickling,
what you are doing,
though I am sure
it is more naughty than that.

This won't do. I am a proper woman
not accustomed to such shenanigans
conducted by a frog-mouthed man
with eyes like gold balls.

Anne Yohn
April 2001