Someone let the wolf in,
and he’s hungry this time.
Black mottled fur, charcoal eyes,
teeth whiter than a cuttle fish bone.
He’s ragged and scarred,
but lean, cunning and savage.
Someone let the wolf in,
he didn’t huff and he didn’t puff.
He didn’t have to blow the house down.
Now searching through the den,
starving eyes and death’s intent,
guided by the trail of the scent.
Someone let the wolf in,
now he’s resting peacefully.
Curled up in little Bobby’s bed,
with a great big smile on his lips.
Red, red sprayed on all the walls,
he’d gorged to his heart’s content.
Someone let the wolf in,
He wasn’t anyone’s grandmother.
He didn’t dress in a bonnet or gown.
Now he’s fat and comfortable
Always a humbling position
To find yourself in the end.
Someone let the wolf in,
he was sleeping when they found him.
They covered their ears,
but he never heard the bang.
The wolf kept on sleeping,
happy in that bed.
Inherently Meaningless 