There’s a man living above my shower.
More like a goblin, really.
He’s harmless
thus far,
Though he peers through cracks
Onto my nakedness.
The vent is dusty and spotted
With mold never cleaned.
He sits inside the vent,
His eyes bulging through spaces
In his head,
Like two blood
Oranges with slits–
Pulpy and dripping
Where there should be whites.
His blackened fingers,
Miniature and curled
With yellowing talons,
Splitting and peeling,
They wrap themselves around
The molded metal, leering
For a better look.
While I rinse and repeat
I wonder
How and what he eats, if he does.
He’s never been spotted
Outside of his vent.
He must creep out in the night
To feed
On skin cells and loose hairs
Left about the drain.
Maybe he eats the small roaches
Who crop up in the bottom of the bath,
Or maybe, he breeds them..
That seems like a gremlin thing to do.
My showers are always safe, save
The peering and sneering
And the clacking of claws.
But in the closed eyes
Under the shower stream,
I wonder
If he climbs down from his vent,
His skin scarred and bubbling
With boils ready to burst,
Patches sloughing off mid-molt,
Carefully careening into the tub
With a swiftness unexpected for
A small thing so round.
Sure to keep his long hooks
From making startling noise,
Does he enter the space with me?
Those fingertips could surely pierce
My naked flesh and leave the tub
Running red.
For now, though, I’ll shower
With gremlin attending,
For my exterminator
Doesn’t believe in gremlins.