I don't know why ninjas are coming after me,
But they are.
They're letting themselves down on ropes from the ceiling in my closet.
Three of them dressed all in black clothing
That covers them from head to toe and shimmers
Like satin spun from mythical silkworms.
Even the ropes are black.
Black sheaths hang from belts around their waists,
And I don't know how I know this, but I do,
The swords inside the sheaths are dark, shiny, double-edged metal blades.

And of course I can't move.
But I don't know if I am paralyzed from fear
Or because, although my mind is awake,
My body is still sound asleep and unable to perform the commands that my mind sends to it.
I scream and wet the bed all at once.

But now, even in my terror,
I have swooped up and over,
Grabbing my trusty 7-iron on my way.
I stand at the ready,
And the ninjas know
They are no match for me.
I rock back and forth
On the balls of my feet
And wield my golf club sturdily.
They ascend,
Leaving my closet
The same way they came in,
Through an attic door
That doesn't exist,
And the only proof I have
That they were there at all
Is the yellow stain on my mattress pad
That bears an uncanny resemblance
To the shape of Bruce Lee's fighting stance
When he performs his one inch punch.

-jenn