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Wolf
          after Andrea Hollander Buddy

It is not hunger or its empty howl
He fears.  It's the helpless 

Taste for pork that propels 
And masters him-hog lust 

Eating up the night, chewing 
Through the dark to their tidy houses.  

Straw, then sticks, then brick, he 
Admires the walls, imagines them

Blown away, razed;  pictures pig 
Families; sees them light lamps, tell

Tales, bear young; craves them skewered, 
Bar-b-qued to ease his fearful appetite.
  
At night, he tells himself that sows are born fools,
That pigs exist to tempt a wolf.  He knows

He is a fiend to get at them, will chance 
A steep climb to the chimney to catch the smell 
 
Of their rank, sweet  hides: useless swine, 
Pigs, prey,  will slide to their hot center 

Their hot, sweet center.

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