sheepskin

Raised with the flock, it never occurs to him

perhaps the others never wrestle with his appetites,
cannot comprehend his bloodlust;
find true satisfaction with the pasture
as he could never.

The shock and the fury, the terror in their faces
when he grins, when he digs his claws in deep;
their weakness in trouble, bleating fears he never felt—
all mysteries to his fanged mind.

Carefully; carefully; he hides his fleeceless hide
to stay in places he detests with souls he loves.
But one dark night with reason to growl
the clothing slips as he bristles to protect
—the shepherd raises a holy staff
and sends him tumbling into a moonlit exit.

Now he will sulk in shadow and in shame
but never let them come to harm; this promise
he howls to Luna, shivering their honest spines—

He’ll wander on, never far
but never in, never fed,
never loved, never safe:
ever watchful over the flock
he terrifies and loves.

5/05/23