If there’s wailing to be done,
then I’m your beast.
My caterwaul is powered
by every hurt I’ve suffered,
every lust from rabid hunger
to the lascivious lure of blood.
I arch my neck,
let forth a monstrous yawl
from the pit of my lungs
to the taut quills of my bristling fur.
Sink your head down in your pillows,
reinforce your courage with sheet and blanket,
but your ears are in my woods tonight,
your mind stumbles its way
in the tangled pathways of my dark,
and there’s your heart – a pitiable thing –
reverberating like a gong
smashed by the mallet of my howl.
Yes, if there’s wailing to be done,
then you must be the one to hear.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in the Homestead Review, Harpur Palate and Columbia Review with work upcoming in the Roanoke Review, the Hawaii Review and North Dakota Quarterly. John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in the Homestead Review, Harpur Palate and Columbia Review with work upcoming in the Roanoke Review, the Hawaii Review and North Dakota Quarterly.
Published 2/14/19