|
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.
|