The Churrocka’s a toothy beast
alive with anger and deceit.
He drools and has a dozen feet,
Teeth sharp, bared and, with thick blood, greased.
The Churrocka just longs to greet
a fool wandering in the dark
‘neath a bulbous moon in a park;
here he smiles and plucks at fresh meat.
Now he hungers, he must be embark
to a lighter place; from shadow
where the people fight, and fires glow.
Where children laugh and, fearless, lark.
The Churrocka is in the know
and with scuttling feet and wet lips
He jumps crevices and dips;
Up sheer walls of brick, he must go.
Families sleep and the light slips.
The Churrocka creeps, north then east
in search of a big, scavenged feast.
At the thin, wood ceiling, he chips.