Every night upon the stair
the trip trap of uncle Oxenhead
chalk squeal of horn on the wall
splinter of banister rails.

Sometimes I hear
a softer step
murmur and giggle
nervous catch of breath
winding up the stair
to Oxenhead's attic lair

Wild nights of thunder
floorboards crack and quake
dust showering down
upon the banister rails.

One day I'll throw wide
the bedroom door to
beckon young virgins in
hide them beneath the
lonely bed
of Oxenhead's
kith and kin.