It stands a foot tall.  Its eyes

of black beads bulge from its head.

Of black fabric stretched smooth

with tightly packed polyester stuffing,

 

it sports quilted wings and a broad

quilted tail.  Its wings and stilt-

like legs are fastened with black buttons,

so they’ll swivel.  Its plastic feet

 

are colossal, upturned at right angles,

their three stubby toes stuck in the air

like the tines of a fat pitchfork.  It sits

on a red candle braced for blast-off,

 

the grim black snow cone of its head

angled downward as if, having conquered

heaven, it’s fixed its sights on hell.

Its tag reads, “Not for children under fifty.”