THE WOLFMAN
'neath full white moon, from wolfsbane bloom
there came a gloomy cry
this haunting tune of doom and tomb
made Tom assume he'd die
at first a growl and then a howl
what prowled beyond his sight?
the noise had fouled the evening's cowl
and scared an owl to flight
as if a hound was gaining ground
somewhere around the trees
these kinds of sounds can make hearts pound
and blood's been found to freeze
and though the thud of feet on mud
said likelihood a dog
still there Tom stood, scared in the wood
in scuds of misty fog
but who'd have guessed, a man, quite stressed
would crest atop the hill
who's vest did wrest, 'til bare of chest
and undressed, fell dead still
then with a moan, a snout was grown
while other bones constricted
just as was shown in films he'd known
or Twilight Zone depicted
like wolfman lore from days of yore
claws tore through finger tips
then paws to floor, down on all fours
teeth poured from jaw through lips
and with fur grew, transition through
it's blue eyes flew Tom's way
to seek a clue, accrue a view
if Tom knew what to say
Tom felt a chill, a deadly thrill
his heart stood still, a while
but soon wolf's will seemed to distill
and was to **** it's style?
it had not leapt or even crept
just kept Tom in it's eye
a slight misstep would be inept
it said "accept or die"
this lycanthrope was out to scope
how modern dopes react
how would Tom cope with this tightrope?
his only hope was tact
and thinking through what best to do
Tom soon came to this sense
where once was due a scream or two
might now construe offence
should Tom address it's differentness
and call it pest or clown?
or treat as guest this man cross dressed
with no thoughtless pronoun?
a quick brainstorm then Tom got warm
how he'd perform it's test
accept the norm that folks transform
to which form suits them best
a gypsy spell or silver shell
could mean death knell incurred
now Tom could tell how to do well
- just yell all the right words
best not hold with thoughts of old
be controlled by the past
forget what's told in books once sold
don't scold it an outcast
Tom did not dare to curse and swear
turn to the air his nose
was well aware it's wrong to stare
at men who wear wolf clothes
he'd tow the line, not undermine
so opined joyously
'if you define yourself lupine
or canine, fine by me'
the tension eased with wolf appeased
so pleased it wagged it's tail
it's test not breezed with expertise
he'd teased a pass from fail
so off Tom skipped (more likely, slipped)
his hat tipped in 'goodnight'
and though equipped with puns and quips
to stay tight lipped felt right.
I liked writing it.