The Wolf
Nobody warned me that he was a Wolf
Under my changling’s oath; bidden and chuffed
I thought the pox came from beyond his walls
The Wolf said, “I’m trans too see? That’s the
Appeal; that’s my appeal!” I disagreed and
Then realised he meant as in gender, queer, isms.
He didn’t like that I said so. He so didn’t, he didn’t.
One day looking for deep concentration in
Meditation I sat on his three year old sofa.
“It’s getting worse,” he told me, he scolded me.
He said it like it was my fault. How could it be?
I missed the warning signs. I ought to have known, I…
Perhaps I did know he had a hex-some huff, gruff.
He always had the pox of exclusion as now even his own.
He picked on my sweater. “real wool, is it? He
Questioned me with clipped laughter again & again
You aren’t meant to ask questions as a woman. Why not?
Faced with the pox of exclusion, so I said: I didn’t
Know staying with you was a death warrant?” He is
Not even frazzled. Not even jangled. He wanted me
Dead. “Do you think I’m a liar too?” I asked him.
Puffed up in gender supremacist’s grandeur he barks:
“Undress, undress, prove to me that you are, you!”
The hex of exclusion came in many hues but whose?
Nothing ventured, nothing at all, nothing gained.
“How are you different from the to fundamentalists
All around us? Can you tell me that much at least?
I was warned how deep the hex ran. Goodbye, Wolf,
Goodbye, friend, or is that Wolf friend, friend, fiend?
Mia Nikasimo © February 2010.
