Finding fat fleas
dirty dog disease
Scrappy’s summertime scratch
makes me mad.
i am a sheep dressed up as a wolf in an other sheep’s fleece
that i may walk my field in peace.
the flock mock my smock that keeps me safe.
the wolves drool and yet keep their cool thinking i am of their school.
the sheep bleat their disbelief as the cruel wolves leave me be.
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as the snow set in with the din of the wind he could hardly hear himself holler;
but he could hear the wolves howling in the hills.
“let’s get this kill to the cave, be brave my brothers.”
“this foal is all snack and no supper.” said one to the other, contemplating their hunger as they trudged through the snow with little to show beside skin sinew and bone.
some grunted, some groaned.
the wolves closing in, collecting their kin, wary of so many men, tasting the blood on the snow as they go.
the cave is in sight, and inside is bright with a smoky glow.
women bandy burning brands of branches aflame to claim the kill for the clan.
once more the wolves are forced to flee into the night under the trees.
i often think;
the rabbits in the field,
the chaffinch in the trees,
the stickleback in the stream,
the goat on the cliff’s edge;
none have ever had hot food.
winter’s kitchen doesn’t contain cookers.
Winter is here, the season of fear.
Wolves have their proof,
Snow on the straw-roof.
Wet logs brought in,
The smoke and the steam.
Kill the aurochs to cure the beef.
There will be hunger
Before there is relief.
Hear the wolves just outside
As their howls and heckles rise.
They smell and eat the piss and shit
Of the shared mess pit,
Piss against our door.
Put fat on the fire,
We gift to the Gods,
Hope they hear us,
Or all is lost!
Squirrels chittering in the trees.
Leaves playing in the breeze.
My dog barking down below.
What happened to the acorns i did see?
Only the squirrel knows.