The Thing

There is a thing
Beneath the stair
With slimy face and oily hair
That does not move or speak or sing
Or do another single thing
But sit and wait
Beneath the stair
With slimy face and oily hair.

It is my belief that Shel Silverstein wrote this poem when he was feeling ill. Maybe the thing was the illness. Maybe he himself was the thing.
Maybe he didn't feel much like writing that day and would rather have stayed in bed, reading and occasionally sleeping.

There is a thing
That stays in bed
With roiling stomach and achy head

That doesn't quite have the same punch. I guess I'll just have to lay here and wait until the thing decides to go away.