He jumps frantically,

trying to see the source of the distant
cries and moans that have
disturbed his magenta night
and awakened the grinning
demons from their shallow
rest.
His heart races in tempo
to his helpless fear,
going too fast in the straightaway,
and heading dangerously
for the wall.
He strains his ears, climbs
on to a ridiculous little
stepladder, and holds up
a sparkler to signal his
profound concern.
Engulfed in Plastic Jesus compassion,
choking tears seize him, and
while walking into his bear cave
he almost trips over
the darkened figure gasping like
a washed up alewife
near the moss-covered entrance.
He once again shakes his head
in noble despair
and unloads a .38 clip into
the faces of the
screeching devils.