Homunculus

I can't shake this imp;
hunched on my shoulder like a gargoyle
he tips a wink
to pretty girls who can't see him;
who see only my pronounced slouch
and rictus snarl.

He whispers things;
his tongue whips and fizzes
through craggy fangs.
He lisps, 'Eat more chips,'
and when I do
his breathing seethes and he tells me,
'Put cheese on them! Dip them
in mayonnaise and push every chip
down your throat!'

If I don't do as he says
I get headaches. Splitters.
So I stay at home
when I'd rather go out,
and he watches a programme
on panthers, and another,
which is the news,
which shows train wrecks.