Poem: Wolves

An earlier version of this poem appeared in Bluepepper back in 2020.


Promises slip through sharp teeth

like killers through clipped fences.

Wolves adjust their dripping neckties

and paint red stripes on their fur.

This is a truth—

everyone is either a wolf

or a wolf dressed like your neighbor.

Men wrapped in flags howl old war songs.

We sing them back, eyes like moons.

They raise claws red as dying stars

and swear the wolves are all dead.

This is a truth—

wolves howl and pledge nothing.

We pretend our howls are promises.

It is night, gullet-dark. Fireworks rip

the sky with red and fiery fingers.

Around us, men are eating their flags,

wolves are singing through sharp teeth.

This is a truth—

a wolf will always be a wolf.

A man will always be a wolf.

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