That Thing

That thing comes slithering
ithering
in
wet hair, bedraggled,
clammy skin
one eye puffed shut,
one bloodshot eye -
it won't say where it was
or why
instead it winks
and tries to smile
with teeth unspeakable
and vile
and while you rack your mind
for what its weakness is,
it eyes your butt

you toss wood stakes
and garlic cloves,
silver bullets,
dirty clothes
make frantic finger crucifix
but nothing works
and nothing fits
this shambling vampire revenant,
this low-rent lycanthropic pimp
whose body hosts unwholesome ghosts
this slumlord of his own unholy
demon-tenanted tenement
advances on

with one-eyed leer
pretending not to note
or hear
your whispered, ragged,
gasping plea

so: knee? Meet balls
and balls: meet knee.