It sits tight capped
Waiting by the empty glass
That moans in a silent a
Anticipating.
They are always there
Right out on the table.
They can never be
Locked safely in a cabinet.
They wait.
Knowing
You will come
Soon or years later
When you need to see
The demons fly
Hear them roar
In your ears.
Maybe Thanksgiving
Or better yet, Christmas.
You will need them
To worry like jackals
Whatever it was some
Thanksgiving or Christmas
That you saved
For just such an occasion
To help you
Need them out.
But the demons come for us all
We the unsedated
Who are grabbed by the backs of our necks
Our heads yanked by the hair
And forced to look
Right into yellow bloodshot eyes,
Our ears blasted and torn
Ringing with glass.
We did not will this.
Having no vials to dull our eyes our ears,
We must
WE MUST
Pretend they are not there
Like children under blankets
Believing hard in magic
God, please, make it stop,
Believing we believe them back into the bottle.
Believing they will stay
Under the cap.
The cracked, rattling cap.