By:  Linda M. Crate

i love penguins
and white tigers,
but leave all those arctic
wolves buried in their
snow father’s arms
they only use their fangs to
wound and impale;
i love polar bears
and white foxes,
but leave all those arctic
wolves buried in
the tongues
of their destructive
lust they use
to shatter the stained glass
windows of unsuspecting
raven’s souls—
i love white owls
and arctic hares,
but leave all those
arctic wolves
buried in their guilt because
they know they do
wrong; they just
don’t care—
i loved arctic wolves
until i met one
with a silver mane
coarser than winter’s teeth.