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Dedicated to Mal M-S
You are very worried about how big the monster is getting. When he was a little monster he was much cuter. Sometimes he was a purple Santa Claus, or The Cat in the Hat, and he never scared you when he jumped out from behind the bed, the way he does now.
You not quite sure where he came from - you think he hatched from a tiny egg which popped out of your heart one day in kindergarten when you were doing sit-ups. The monster grew bigger as you did, putting on weight every day and practising new expressions. He has an amazing repertoire of faces now. He could be a stand-up comedian, except he's too shy.
The monster doesn't look into mirrors, because he doesn't want to scare himself. But he does hide behind mirrors when you're looking into them, and he makes your reflection pull awful faces.
The monster lives under your bed - he is not afraid of the dark. During the day he hides under the bookcase in a dusty corner so you can't vacuum him up. He eats little bits of skin and hair which fall to the floor, or any unfinished stories you leave lying around.
The monster has very strong political beliefs. He is fiercely left-wing and goes to all the protest marches and sit-ins which you miss, because you'd rather watch that movie on television, or it's too cold out there today, and you haven't got a jacket, etc. The monster hates the word "et cetera". He says he will eat you if you use it again.
The monster is made of white pearl and ivory. His teeth are brushed obsidian. There is a little kiwi-fruit juice dripping out of the side of his mouth, but he won't wipe it off because he is an untidy beast. There are a couple of blood-specks on his tail. These fell on him from out of your nose one day when you were upset and had a nose-bleed. The monster keeps the specks, to remind you of the mess your life is in.
Last week he gave you an awful terror, when you woke in the night and saw his paua eyes glittering at you from the bedside table. He did this deliberately, knowing there was no moon that night.
Your cat Castor likes to play with the monster, but you try to prevent this, as you don't want Castor suddenly being eaten one day. He is a dangerous monster, and not to be trifled with.
The Monster Writes a Poem
One day you have a terrible argument with the monster. You are trying to watch Sally Jessy Raphael but the monster is hogging the best chair and you have to sit on the floor. He says he is writing a poem, but he doesn't seem very inspired because he is grumbling all the time and throwing bits of paper around.
You ask to look at the poem.
The monster replies that you should mind your own business.
Luckily you know how the monster's mind works, so you go out of the room for a while and then come back. "I've put the kettle on," you say. "I'm making a whole litre of coffee and I'm going to drink it all myself."
The monster roars away to the kitchen to turn off the kettle and you snatch up his poem. It is barely readable because it has been chewed round the edges, but you can make out the first half.
My Pet
by the Monster
My pet is a pain
It is lazy and it sleeps all night when it ought to be playing with me
Sometimes it is very bad
It needs to be punished
Yum.
Where does it come from?
I think it was born in a swamp
Cause it is slimy and has no backbone.
When my pet is naughty
it makes me hungry
Yum.
Last week it did something very delicious
It decided to finish that story it is writing
and then it went to the movies instead!
My tummy rumbles...
I sharpen my teeth
You are interrupted by the return of the monster, who has puffed himself up to twice his normal size and is carrying the kettle in one paw. He has an ivory scowl across his face: an expression of disbelief and disgust.
"You are incorrigible," the monster says using your father's voice.
"Just who do you think you are?" you shout.
A fearsome argument ensues. The monster lectures you about lying, about privacy, about the danger of watching Sally Jessy, about laziness.
You don't think the monster ought to be allowed to bully you the way he does, so you fight back, but it is hard to concentrate because the monster's eyes are starting to get all glowy, and he keeps licking his lips.
"Yum," he drools. "Yum..."
Who Is the Monster?
Although you fight with the monster a lot, you don't really mind him. He's actually part of you: he's like your fingernail or your eyelash.
One of the monster's faces is the image of lust on a Salvador Dali painting. A leonine face with a smiley pink tongue. The monster does not only lie beneath your waist. He also flattens himself to the nape of your neck, so he's invisible until someone lifts your hair and kisses him.
The monster is the friend you lost when you were being selfish, and wouldn't let him play pool with you. The monster is the lover you betrayed, because you were scared of being betrayed. The monster is the history exam you failed because you filled up the answerbook with poetry. The monster, who is also your mother, doesn't think the poetry was even very good.
The monster was never an alcoholic like you were, but he does suffer from an obsessive compulsive disorder which makes him straighten bits of paper on your desk, and put the pens in order - red, blue green in a perfect line. He gets bleeding gums sometimes, when he's been eating too many of your unfinished stories - they have sharp edges. Very indigestible.
You call the monster Petunia occasionally, to annoy him. Or Petal, or Pet. He gnashes his obsidian teeth and spits mouthfuls of blood at you. It doesn't pay to make the monster angry.
Yet you can't remove the monster, because he's plugging up all of your holes. He controls the pulse of your blood; he won't let your heart stop beating.
