The wolf that wins

fall like a riot remembered
through streets lined with boarded up shopfronts
and i should be mourning or gathering
but i’ve always been more of a hunter

my heels do not click so i tap the
glass of my watch with a knife edge
and cover the back of my neck while i
spit into listening corners

i may never banish my demons
instead, they have swallowed politely
and learned for themselves how to snap the
bones of the hands that have touched them

if the wolf you feed is the one that wins
and devouring without guilt is also an art
i will file my teeth into poisoned pins
and forget my name and forgive my heart

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

The concepts referenced in the last verse are the Native American legend of the two wolves and Last year I abstained / this year I devour / without guilt / which is also an art from the poetry of Margaret Atwood.

 


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