Retro-Day: A Dragon in My Underpants

Every now and then, I like to look back at work from the past. This little poem/children’s story was based on the idea that when people grow up, they tend to forget about the magic the world once had when they were younger. I wrote it back in October of 2000 as part of a brief explosion of poetry. That was around my one year anniversary of going out with my soon to be wife, Sarah. Without further ado, here’s a poem for the whole family:

Dragon in My Underpants

In a small house
Outside of Saddleton Falls,
There sounds a scream
Which echoes through all the halls

“There’s a dragon in my underpants!”
Robert Cliffrose exclaimed,
But of course his mother
Doubted the absurd claim.

Mother Cliffrose
Has heard it all.
From a unicorn on Robert’s Nose
To a demon that stole pantyhose.

She’s heard Robert speak of angels
And talking pebbles.
He has spoken of Water Sprites and their confrontations
With cranky Southern Rebels.

But something was different!
This day was far from plain,
As evidenced when Robert
Came downstairs to explain.

Half naked and frightened,
The little youth bellowed,
as he told his story
of why his socks are now yellowed.

“Through my window it came!”
He said with a shudder.
“How did it fit?”(Mother asked rather politely)
“He used a stick of butter!”(Robert replied, not lying even slightly.)

“Robert, though I have to cook,
I will take a moment of my time,
Let the oatmeal simmer
And go take a look.”

Up the stairs,
Mother and son trotted,
As Mother Cliffrose wondered
What her son had plotted.

“Did he break a window?
No! I’d have heard the glass…
Maybe he he’ll get through this phase?
I hope this all will pass!”

Of course Mother Cliffrose spoke only to herself,
knowing fully well that there was no dragon,
nor beast, NOT EVEN AN ELF!
These things do not exist, she convinced herself.

To the door,
Where Robert’s bed is kept,
The Mother and son slowly,
Slowly crept.

With a squeak of the hinges,
there was a brief silence,
one that was not
a prelude to violence.

Nothing was there,
Not even the bed.
Not a ball glove or ball bat
Or stuffed animal head.

A stretched out pair of underwear,
Was all that was there.
A sight which brought Mother and son
Naught but dispair.

Robert Cliffrose looked up,
And smiled at his mother.
He never lied before,
And this was not another.

From that day hence,
Mother Cliffrose believed
The stories told by her son.
Regretting ever doubting any single one.

Advertisements

About harrylthompsonjr

I'm a writer, a photographer, and a lover of role playing games. I've moved my blog to wordpress in hopes of actually getting some feedback. We'll see :)
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s