Sometimes, as I buzz through the kitchen,
greeting dawn before night
has even left my bed,
I see the shadow of an imp,
pulling behind the cabinets.
I can even make out his sometimes friendly,
but more often fiendish smile
by the jut of his chin.

I get nervous. Waiting for the sound
of a sharp knife, reverberating for all its tang,
as it's pulled from the knife block or probably,
just the dull oak thud
of the knife block hitting the back of my head.

Of course, it could only be a glancing blow,
nothing fatal. Because imps are short,
and they only have so much time to work
when you are hunched over rummaging
through the cabinet by the sink.

So if you find me lying on the floor
in the morning in a pool of confusion,
it was the imp who took me out,
and if he tells you, "trust me," don't.