It sits there short, fat, round and silent,
perching in amongst the violets.
Blink and miss the signs so clear:
it wants to get away from here
it’s sharpening it’s fishing gear
into a little china spear
which it will bore into your brain
least 20 times in quick refrain
and once your skull is surely shivved
he’ll crawl inside your head to live.
Crouches, snowy beard, cheeks rosy,
nestled in between the posies.
Was it always quite so near
to where you hang your hosiery?
But you persist with laundry
neglecting movements tawdry
creeping through your conurbation
plunging sharpened cone-hats through
your unexpecting faces.
Never bring one to your home
the genocidal garden gnome
they only want to wear your bones
in houses of their own.
They saw off limbs, with beardy grins
from cats and dogs you won’t let in
post them through the letter box
then giggle by the bins.
If you go investigate
they’ll usher you toward your fate
unless, of course, you kick them
for they shatter like a plate.
– Leland Velociraptor 2012