Poem “His Only Weakness”

Since Halloween falls in October, I thought I’d post this poem this month.

“His Only Weakness”

“Smoke… good,” the Monster says,
enjoying a cigar on the patio.

Remembering the blind hermit, he takes a puff.
“Friend… good.” The smoke rises before him

bringing back memories of those black-and-white days,
the screams, the flames, the lightning so vivid

that the suburban colors around him now seem
bland and imitative of real life and death.

At the simple cross over the woodland grave,
he left a cigar and a tear. Words failed him.

He walked past the fallen tower that covered
the lying Praetorius, the murderous Karl and

the man who gave him his name, leaving nothing
but large footprints and memories of rage.

The Monster takes a long draw and tries to remember
something pleasant: The Baroness von Frankenstein

how her long blonde braids fell to her noble chest.
True, she prefered that English scientist, but the

memory of her blonde tresses and pale skin
lights his scarred, gray face with a smile.

At least she didn’t fall for the Wolf Man, like that
fiery Gypsy girl who died under the full moon.

“Ilonka.” Her name escapes his black lips with
the smoke, the pain of the memory startling him.

“What dear?” his lightning-blessed Bride asks, putting
down her novel to stare at him with icy eyes.

The Monster puffs again, hearing a Romany fiddle
wail a lament in that long-lost moonlight.

Sighing, the Bride leaves the patio as the Monster
looks at his cigar and remembers Ilonka’s dance.

A hiss from the doorway makes him look up.
Cigar clenched between teeth, the Bride expels

a stream of smoke that weaves through the
gravestone-pale streak in her Nefertiti hair.

Sometimes, her mate realizes, things do end happily for monsters.

Posted in C4W’s Creative Thoughts by Michael Samerdyke

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