He couldn’t have come

at a more inconvenient time.

I wasn’t ready.

The boxes weren’t even unpacked.

I thought I’d be safe,

I was wrong.With one long breath, he blew.
It wasn’t strong, just long.

He blew.

Not gale force, just long
sustained, until
like a dandelion puff exploding
I stood in the center
of my life raining down upon me.

Bits of dry stalks colored the sky
with a golden glow, then
coming to rest, covering
my floor, the boxes
my feet.

It was then I could see
the flame of his demon eyes.
Drool dripping from his
glistening fangs.

I should have listened,
heeded my brother’s warning.
But I would be the Scarecrow of Oz
bravely nestled into my straw.
I would be the greenest of three
reusing what the farmer deemed chaff,
even though there is no chaff in straw,
only remnants for the cows,
sopping for the horses.

Of this I would make my house
to keep me warm in winter,
cool when the summer sun
made its yearly visit.

And I would be preserved
in my new abode,
my house made of straw
until…

.
.
.
Author’s Note

Today’s prompt from NaPoWriMo was to write a persona poem. We were asked to do a monologue of a person in history or mythical, just someone who we are not.