Albino dragons lurk in cumulus
clouds, hunting us with hellish roars that tear
our souls apart. Their laughter sears the air
and leaves an ozone stink. So perilous
has it become than even roses flus-
ter us, as bobbing buds appear to glare
about with hot red eyes. We chant the prayer
Saint George composed before forsaking us.
When winter looms, the fog and snow become
the enemy’s camouflage, while under
ground, we live like trolls, reduced to abject mice.
On moonless nights, we dress in white and numb
with fear we climb the frozen peaks to plunder
the pearly eggs they cache in nests of ice.
KJ Kirby was born in a small upstate New York city famous for its baby mastodon. She has been a teacher, a book salesperson, a construction electrician, a tax preparer, a package wrangler, and is now in search of her next career
Story © 2006 KJ Kirby. All other content copyright © 2006 ByrenLee Press
Art Director: Bonnie Brunish