CAESTOPHOBIA

The pursuing creatures were odd of gait:
lopsided as they ran … their weight
unbalanced.
Yet still they gained,
their gaping maws slavering;
slate-cut teeth stained
with something I daren’t
perceive.

Varicoloured and relentless,
they chased me across
blurred, uneven, terrain:
my pounding heart drowning
any baying
they might have voiced.
I sought safe haven,
but my sense of direction
deceived.

As they closed, a bell sounded,
and the slamming
of the shop door jolted
me back to where
I was not quarry, but hunter,
the obscene pack mounted:
toothless trophies
on the walls … merely gloves.
Relieved.