Bound in a basement,
the goblin rubs
his chain-reddened wrist,
pacing back and forth
as his hands
transform into fists.
The beast's mutters
turn to sputters
as the ire persists,
his face full of rows
of the window blinds'
sun-restraining slits.
Upstairs he can hear
the laughs, the songs,
the dances, the chats,
his back jerking
every time the floorboard
he's beneath is passed.
In the semi-dark,
the goblin lurks,
his thoughts like a rash,
irking him to recede
and scratch-scratch
scratch-scratch-scratch...
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