An Ode to .. Hana

Home alone
“OK,” says Chris Luxon, CEO of Bottom Feed Enterprises.
“I’m going out now to an important work event.
Can I trust you to behave?”
“Sure, Dad,” says Seymour. “I’m thirteen now.”
“All right,” says Dad.
“Call me if you need to – and remember,
Whatever you do, don’t hit the Box with the Stick.”
“Sure, Dad,” says Seymour. “I’m thirteen now, remember?”
The door shuts and the car lights
Disappear off down the street.
Seymour is home alone.
He flips through a few pages of Atlas Shrugged.
He plays for five minutes on Grand Theft Auto.
“Boring,” Seymour says to himself.
He goes up to the giant Box
Sitting in the middle of the lounge.
He picks up the Stick and gently, ever so gently,
Rubs it lightly on the side of the box.
Nothing happens.
“Hmm, thought not,” Seymour says to himself.
He leans over and taps the Box three times.
Silence.
Silly old Dad,” he chuckles.
Seymour hits the Box with the Stick.
He whacks the Box with the Stick.
He pounds the Box with the Stick repeatedly
Until the Stick shatters.
Then into the eerie silence,
A rumbling begins.
It gets louder and louder.
Seymour has awoken something.
The Box starts to shake.
It rattles and it rolls.
Then with an ear-shattering hiss and screech
It explodes open to reveal
The ten foot tall Taniwha of legend, Hana-Rawhiti,
Eyes rolling, smoke pouring from her ears,
And a tongue of green flame burning from her mouth.
Seymour stares up at this otherworldly apparition
That looms above him as the green flames
Tickle his nose.
Seymour picks up his phone and presses speed dial.
“Dad,” he says,
“I hit the Box.”