Cat Jenkins lives in the Pacific Northwest where the weather is often conducive to long hours before a keyboard. Her stories in humor, fantasy, speculative fiction and horror have been published both online and in print. Cat’s blog can be found at: catjenkinsdotcom.wordpress.com. On Twitter: @CatJenkins11
A cavernous mouth stretched to its limit,
Screaming and howling will begin it.
A veritable caldera of bubbling rage,
Predictable reaction of particular age.
The Ogre is famished as his cries indicate,
Foreshadowing a victim’s unavoidable fate.
He glares at the door and squints his eyes,
Willing a banquet to materialize.
When none appears he throws his head back,
Oxygen ammo fuels an auditory attack.
The noise produced would wake the dead.
Certainly enough to get the cook out of bed.
She blearily climbs to the Ogre’s room,
Mumbling his demands come too soon.
On her way she detours to the stable,
Picks the candidates for the table.
A vat of milk and a sheaf of wheat,
The Ogre will have porridge to eat.
She dumps the grain into a pot,
Leaves it to stew into something hot.
She scoops the Ogre from his bed,
Careful to support his howling head.
While breakfast cooks, she cradles and kisses,
Ogre-mother, Ogre-child, baby and missus.