Poetry · The Weekly, No. 14
The Wobblehead
A brief poem about a monster born out of urban legends. Seeking to build a "modern American mythology."
R.C. Horton · 8 November 2026
8 November 2026

There, we see the young Donald lay
weary from a long day of play
by running stream so cool and blue
partaking in the lovely view
The name he had ‘round the village
the name they knew, Donald Milledge
they knew him once, as will be shown
His fate would be to die alone
While hiding in the stream, it crept
upon the boy Donald, it leapt
a beast with a shiny round head
before long the river ran red
Some folks say gobbled up in haste
others dispatched and left to waste
or stolen from home forever
taken away to wherever
The Wobblehead? Mean and scary
a beast that should make you wary
or else you be gobbled up whole
or even dragged back to its hole.
Where is it from? Where was it found?
Some think it sprung up from the ground
or spawned and swam from deep dark reef
to take kids who don’t brush their teeth.
Some fear bad luck when it is near
a boy once ran, or so we hear,
from home and hearth, to dark woods led
for fear of being sent to bed.
Deafening howl, round shiny head
through winding woods, is where it treads
looking around, seeking its mark
for those that wander after dark.
On lanky arms hung massive claws
the claws that our poor Donald saw
that’s what they told his father, Milledge,
that dreadful night, in our village.
Image: John Bauer, Still, Tuvstarr Sits and Gazes Down into the Water, 1913.

The author
Musician, poet, author. Seeking to be the voice of the layman, that he might join the discussion and be taken seriously.
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