Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

The Gingerbread Men

The gingerbread men come
one by one
tumbling madly
dream after dream
lipsticked and stone faced
into my bed.
Their short stocky arms
pull at my flannel,
rip buttons off
egos.
I see their wide mouths,
their red wide mouths,
sucking at my flesh,
pulling limb from limb,
biting my neck,
seeking revenge for Christmases past.
Now it is my turn
to feel what it feels like
to be eaten alive.
One bites my neck
and red icing oozes out.
Legs.
Toes.
Hands.
Arms.
Gone.
It is all gone.
And I am not dead
yet.
Out my window,
the moon
no longer a wife,
slips like a ghost
behind the branches,
too afraid to watch.
Come morning
there will be nothing,
not even a crumb.