I speak in pity of the ruin.
THEIR FIRST HUNT
I am afraid of that woman.
I have seen the scorpion tip
of her soft red mood
and felt the feathered grip
beneath the jess, the hood.
I am afraid of that man,
I have smelled the oestrous rut
that enjoys the sting
and heard the gun click shut
at the lift of the wing.
I am afraid, life,
of your poison and passion.
I am afraid, death,
of your sureness and speed.
WOLF!
As children we played "Wolf"
and howled its hot pursuit
along the canyons of our street,
wailing the bushy tail
that followed at our feet,
sidewalk to cellar,
lamp-post to door,
feeling the murderous paws
and ravenous breath
tingling the skin of our necks,
setting hair on end,
and circling each eye.
Wolf, are you ready?
Steady on the first floor,
he's coming up the stairs...
second floor, third floor,
he's stopping for some air...
top floor, roof, and now beware!
Rough coat, claws and jaws and tooth
will catch you and you and you and YOU!
Oh run-run-run from the WOLF!
That was spring...
the taste of first free days outdoors.