The trapdoor entrance
below the third stair step
is so narrow ears needs to be cut off
or head squeezed in sideways
pushing through one ear
then the other.
In the motley light appear
Tubby, Little Lulu, Archie comics,
last year’s Eaton’s catalogue,
and my old stuffed kangaroo.
The one button eye glares at me.
I stare at the straw poking out his body and tail,
wondering how he got here
and how long he’d been hiding
listening for the past in silence.