Thoughtful, Troubled, Terrified Of Myself

If I were going to be a monster
I’d be a classic fur-and-fang werewolf.
I’d be a Lon Chaney Jr. werewolf.
I’d be a Lawrence Talbot-type werewolf,
thoughtful, troubled, terrified of myself . . .
Twenty-seven or so days every month
I’d spend my human time traveling the world
thoughtful, troubled, terrified of myself,
searching for a cure to my full moon curse.

*

If this were—right now—one of those three nights
of every month when my humanity
was stripped away, when I became a beast,
I would—right now—be creeping through the woods,
prowling through a foggy forest that looked
suspiciously like a movie stage set,
chasing a girl who looked suspiciously
like tennis star Anna Kournikova.
A boom camera would be tracking along
and getting closer to my face and fangs.
When the camera was right up next to me
I wouldn’t howl and scare everybody.
Instead I’d turn toward the camera—right now—
and I would break character. I would smile
and say, “Happy Saint Patrick’s Day, Brenda!”
Then I’d snarl and maybe howl a little
but just to get back into character
not because I wanted to scare people.
And then I’d crouch in the fog and return
to my werewolf-creeping-through-the-woods schtick.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


Surfacing Like Well The Loch Ness Monster