Wolf Boy

Maria Ouspenskaya
—for Anne Sexton

I travel a lot—I’m Gypsy you know
Haunting the Black Forest—Transylvania
I’ve been rumored—to fly a broom
Hitchhiking the moon—when full
But such evil dreams—aren’t for me

My worry is for—my werewolf son
That’s why we hit—the road so much
He’s not a man—when Wolfbane blooms
But I’m still—his concerned mother
That’s why I say—prayers for his kind

Bela howls—at the orange full moon
Deranged—misunderstood Wolfboy
Only 18-years-old—so very handsome
With his wolfish hair—in a ducktail
I keep him locked up—in the back

Riding thru villages—and towns
Bela waves at girls—going by
If they only knew—what he really
Likes to do—bite their thighs
Not ashamed—to dine