Monster Under My Bed?

When I asked who was under my bed,
“Well, not a monster” was what he said.
Before that reply I had my doubts,
If that indeed was his whereabouts.
But now I knew and I was quite sure –
‘Though not if to fear him less or more.

“If not a monster, then what are you?
And under my bed, what do you do?”
But he did not answer right away,
He needed to think of what to say.
How could he explain his presence there
In a way to calm me, not to scare?

“Oh, I am nothing much, made of fluff,
Dust bunnies, socks, and other lost stuff.
I never come out – I’m too afraid –
I do not like sun, only the shade.
I am no worse than dreams in your sleep
And believe secrets are made to keep.”

It made me think and try to fathom
The life of an underbed phantom.
In his place, quiet and secluded,
He has heard everything you did,
But if to Mom you don’t turn him in,
He won’t tell on you – that’s a win-win.