The Demon Barber of...Main Street?

Parents. They're so oblivious sometimes. But a kid's gotta do what a kid's gotta do...

My mum can’t see our barber

When she looks at him.

I don’t mean that’s he’s see-through,

Or that she’s very dim.


Mum just can’t seem to see him

The way a person ought:

She says, “He’s very handsome,”

(Although he’s really not).


No, Mum can’t see his canines--

They’re sharp and pointy-white.

He smiles at her without them,

But me? He shows that bite.


His eyes, they’re red like embers,

His fingers, long and thin,

And while he snips my fringe away,

He’s staring at my skin.


One time, he cut my earlobe;

He said it was a slip,

But when my ear began to bleed,

I saw him lick his lip.


That barbershop is creepy:

No mirrors anywhere--

It’s dark and cold and gloomy,

With just one single chair.


I hate to get my haircut;

The reason’s clear, you see.

But since my mum can’t see this guy,

She’s asked him round to tea.


I’ve made my preparations:

There’s stakes in ev’ry room,

Our teacups smell of garlic now,

The cross? I’ve used a broom.


Tomorrow is the big day

When “Thomas” comes to dine,

But if he feasts on someone’s blood,

It’s sure as hell not mine.

The End

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