A Werewolf Comes to Our Barbecue
and behaves himself…for now
Silent by tree stumps, he treads
the hardstar darkness
paw by paw by paw.
Hens squawk at his arrival, new lambs
wail, rats scuttle into hiding.
He is polite, shows
irregular teeth, takes up a plate
with the swirl of a hairy hand, he’s baffled
by falafels, disparages asparagus
but Wellington Beef
goes down well, pork ribs are popular, steaks
preferred to cakes, sausages on sticks
confound his kind, chopsticks
are impossible. He’s a misfit
made of furred gristle, a tracker
sniffing moist trails, fang-toothed funster
waltzing twirled branches, dancing by moonlight,
sparring, snarling, scratching, mating. Maestro
of the silver night
bite not my thigh, be satisfied
with rice, pastel ice and jelly of the strawberry kind
and please
leave behind
the full complement of diners.
