Elegy for T. Kennedy by Sarah Firby

My thoughts of wolves are troubled, now.
They are aging academics,
paperback in one hand
Rohypnol in the other.
Home-wreckers, vandals.
Lurking, aimless and pathetic,
Leering.

But once upon a time wolves were simply,
as you put it:
The best.
The cleverest.
The strongest.
Most cunning animal
that ever graced a woodland path.

In conversing with birds,
they were peerless.
Their eloquence inimitable.
Their foresight incredible.
Their teeth irrelevant.

And older, looking for proof;
Looking for these stories
to defend the wolves
against slander,
accusations of deviancy
or, worse still,
of inferiority to foxes
I found nothing.
Turns out you made them.
And so they are gone.
I did find one faithful account
(in the usual place)
Wolves: teaching, wisdom.
Chance for escape.

Artwork by Steve Reynolds.

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