Werewolf Lamentations

 

Another ruined pair

of pants,

another shredded teen-ager

caught beneath my

fingernails.

Another Full Moon. Damn it.

 

I howl and warn at

passers-by in the woods

that I’m out there, prowling

through the mists,

but they just keep coming.

Being loud.

 

Traipsing through my

territory like the dumb

teenagers that they are.

The stacks of teen-ager

corpses should be warning enough,

but the sheriff says it’s unrelated.

 

They think some lunatic

escaped from the local

asylum. When’s the last time

anyone lived by the, “Local Asylum?”

as if they’re just dotted throughout

the rural landscape.

 

I ate those kids,

and ruined my favorite pair

of jeans in the process.

There’s just no getting them

washed or fixed. I should just

go back to wearing sweatpants.

 

I don’t like sweatpants though,

the elastic is good for when I change,

but otherwise, they’re pretty uncomfortable.

Especially when I’m human

and I have a date. Who looks good in

sweatpants on a date?

 

I mean I eat her either way,

but still, I want to look nice before I

devour her. I mean, I’m not a monster.

I’m just a werewolf.

I’m just a man.

Sort of.