By Sue Clancy
Rattle, rustle, bang, bump,
my closet door opened – THUMP!
I smelled it first and wrinkled my nose
then in the moonlight there arose
a creature with a tennis racket head.
Its flannel arms stretched toward my bed.
It smelled of moldy milk I’d dripped.
It staggered in muddy jeans I’d ripped
and moaned as it came toward me,
“I am the ghost of Dirty Laundry!”