The Return of the Fat Cactus

The notes sounded like cannonballs
Chipping away at the porcelain under my fingers.
He was there, big and green, frightening.

Part of me wanted to hug him, oddly enough.
He stared at me, telling me with his eyes
That it was a dangerous idea.

The water sprayed down upon him,
Drenching his brightly-colored sombrero
As his green skin absorbed the moisture.

The notes were sharp, or flat--
They were anything but on key,
But still they rang across the tiled wall

When the sound burst forth
And harshly vibrated my eardrums,
I ran screaming from the room.

It was that day that I realized
The true horror that accompanies
The fat cactus singing in the shower.