Crickety-Crack —
“What’s that?”

“Ah, I mustn’t be such a pussycat:
Floorboards always chat
In this dingy, old flat,
At the slightest pressure pat.
Probably just the cat.”

Crickety-Crack —
Up in bed I quickly sat:
“No seriously, what’s that?
This sound was too fat;
Couldn’t be merely the cat;
I need answers – Stat!”

Bracing for combat,
I pick up the bat
On my bedroom mat
And, with pants almost shat,
I open the door that
Shields my habitat.

My breath, I hold back,
As I look out into the black
Ready to smack and smack
Anything that moves a crack –
But there’s nothing to whack.

To my bed I drawback,
Letting my worries slack,
So I can finally hit the sack,
But then a sudden setback:
Crickety-Crack, Crickety-Crack, Crickety-Crack.

My fear shoots off the tarmac
In a state of hijack,
With thoughts repeating back
On a single mental track:
“It’s some maniac,
Who’s come to attack
And murderously hack
My every limb into a sack;
You know, they never caught that wack,
The Zodiac!”

How about clean bed sheets for a new year’s resolution? You know, because of the stains — I mean the red stains. I mean the red stains from the salsa … you know, from all the salsa I love (to eat) in bed …. No, I’m not making this up …. Fine, I’ll even prove my love for salsa with a little Salsa Serenade right now.