Werewolf Eyes

Looking into the dead eyes of Pat Sharp.
We need to get back before it gets dark.
He needs to be shut in his basement room,
made extra secure since the last full moon.

He's in denial. To make matters worse,
he seems to have an unslakable thirst.
Twilight in the taproom. It's time to go, Pat.
I grab him by his mane. Get off me, you twat!

I propel him through the door, the early evening rain
but it's already too late - he's started to change.
Before I can slip the leash around his neck
he's sprinted off, leaving his cagoule and kecks...


Lustrous in moonlight, his shining mullet.
Mauled sheep. Policemen. One silver bullet.

B.R. 05/02/2017