The Yawn Snatcher is a wily creature.
It has curling horns,
And curving fingers.
Its feet are quiet as a whisper.
You won’t ever hear it coming.
But you might feel it:
That reaching feeling just behind your ears
Like the pull of a magnet
Drawing the yawn away.
The Yawn Snatcher waits
In late nights
Afternoons that drag on.
The Yawn Snatcher loves boring lectures
And long waits at the bus stop.
When a yawn begins,
The Yawn Snatcher senses it,
With its spindle-thin legs
It strides across the land,
Fast as a shadow.
It crouches behind you,
Ears cocked and
It reaches round you
— so quickly you can’t see it,
So deftly you tell yourself it was a trick of the light—
And plucks the yawn right out of your chest.
Its fingers curl, cage-like
Around the vaporous, wriggling yawn.
Then it gobbles it down
Or stuffs the yawn into its sack
Or one of its many bulging pockets,
And lopes off
Back to its lair in the misty mountains.
And you will stand and scratch your head:
Where did that yawn go?
Sometimes, the Yawn Snatcher will trip,
Drop its sack with a spill,
Or the yawn will wriggle out through a hole in its sweater
And fly back to the yawner.
Sometimes, if it has flown a long way,
It will be a weak little thing,
Hardly satisfying at all.
But sometimes a quick and clever yawn
Will break free
And gather momentum.
It will hit you square in the back
Sending a shock through your whole body.
And then you will have the most jaw-cracking,
Mumble-moaning yawn in years.
A yawn that makes you blink your eyes and smile.
The Yawn Snatcher will gnash its teeth,
But it can’t do a thing about it.
It will slink back to its cave
With a grumble and a grimace
To sit and stroke its stolen yawns
And swallow them one by one.
(Inspired by Ennis taking FOREVER to get that yawn out last night!)