Poets logo

Chupacabra

The goat sucker

By Mark Stigers Published about a year ago Updated about a year ago 1 min read

I am no dog with mange.

An alien I am not.

I roam over a wide range.

How many goats have you got?

Blood I love to drink.

Few see me come or go.

A goat is the right size, I think.

It is the best meal I know.

Those who catch a glimpse of me,

one thing they all said,

I was a short little thing,

with eyes that glowed red.

Running down my back

a row of sharp spikes.

They say I was lizard-like

with teeth so pearly white.

I’ll leave a carcass behind,

and you’ll ask, “What happened here?”

A mystery for your mind,

that fills your heart with fear.

surreal poetry

About the Creator

Mark Stigers

One year after my birth sputnik was launched, making me a space child. I did a hitch in the Navy as a electronics tech. I worked for Hughes Aircraft Company for quite a while. I currently live in the Saguaro forest in Tucson Arizona

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments (1)

Sign in to comment
  • Testabout a year ago

    great piece

Find us on social media

Miscellaneous links

  • Explore
  • Contact
  • Privacy Policy
  • Terms of Use
  • Support

© 2026 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.