You’ll get to learn more about David in less than an hour. Until then, enjoy.

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Toy Box
By David Owain Hughes

Same rigmarole every night:
Tucked in, kissed on the head,
Lights out, door closed to ajar.
A sliver of light.
Dilated pupils and a
Hammering heart—regrets of
Not playing nice.

The lid creaks up—
Moving in the creeping shadows—
Shapes on the walls
Of the clown leading the hunt
Followed by Green Berets
With bayonets fixed.

This time they shall have blood.