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An old wolf of a day

Bare-arm bearable when light winks through rheumy eyes,
but slow grey stealth brings plucked-goose flesh
on the howling.
In the teeth of it, the house cracks its knuckles and makes taut
its balustrade against a slobbering at the windows,
let-me-in licking at the sills.
Whole branches lose their grip,
recyclables paradiddle down the road.
Until my-what-big-ears and tail brush hush.
All the better to foetal and hide
then cut open its belly and find me inside.

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