It happens to everyone but no one

has a word for it when you

grow tired of your fave shirt

shelf a good book you've already read

fridge the chicken you've had

one time too many.

You forget

about shirt, book, and chicken

and remember once no one's seen

nor touched them for a while.

When you do, the giant that ate them

lies low, although it doesn't need to.

It's huge (being a giant and all)

and tiny beings can't really see

beyond a small window.

Giants squeeze under staircases,

between tall shelves and closets;

fatter ones may prefer a choice of

trees and electric poles offered

by the outdoors.

How to know you're infested?

place an ear against the wall—

that knocking is a nervous knee jerk.

Ask, "Where's my shirt, book, and chicken?"

They hate to explain, so demand

an answer. Do so everyday.

Don't trust the silence.

Leave them a note if you must.

You know they've left when you find

a coin on your pillow, payment

for the things you don't need.