WOLVES

my mum told me many times
all men are pigs
but some people —–
some people are wolves

he gives me smiles in my solitude
my – what big eyes you have –
he makes me feel interesting
we laugh at eachothers jokes

he smiles at me as he shuts the door
my – what big hands you have
that disregard my silence, my stillness,
the muted cry of what’s happenning?
the quiet pulse of no-no-no-no
not me
never me

he smiles at me in my isolation
and my – how didn’t i see
those big, sharp teeth you have?
your hunting grounds overshadow
my resting place
and i can’t sleep
inside my own corpse

you climb the tower and shout
little red! little red! let me come in!
while i’m still scrubbing at your pawprints
clawing my way out of your stomach

how long ’til i stop hearing your howls
every time i see the moon?
how long ’til wounds from your claws
scab over?
how long ’til i no longer flinch from the call little red
measuring eyes and hands and teeth?
hot long ’til i can look at myself
and not see the Big Bad Wolf?

© chris DINGLEY 2014