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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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