By: Adrian Slonaker

Wolves should be snarlingly brutal,
not pining meekly
for your meaty feet shod with Earth shoes.

Wolf-tails shouldn’t wag
when wolf-ears are stroked
by your bloodstone- and onyx-ringed fingers.

Wolves should display dominance,
not yielding to tameness
when you prattle praat-praat in charmingly clumsy Afrikaans.

Wolves should hunt and conquer,
not nestling themselves
in scent-dunes of your sage deodorant.

Quivering in the quicksand of shoulds and shouldn’ts
yet perplexedly punch-drunk in step with you,
this once-mighty wolf must do
the inevitable:

Lick your face-brusquely-while you slumber,
nuzzle you-all of you-one last time
and trot off alone
to reclaim its heritage of solitude.