Shabbat Crook (XI)

Out on a green pasture,
The blue light coming down from the sky,
Stands the whole flock.
Sheep, waiting for the shining sun to warm the day
As the dew damps the grass,
Where their legs push past the flowers—
Yellow and purple and white.
And over in his den,
The wolf waits, lying on his bed of wool,
Watching movies of the kill over and over in his head.
The songs of dying lambs playing softly in the back.

A villain,
Once a week the wolf joins the green pasture,
Moving past the yellow and purple flowers,
Waiting for a sheep to walk past so he can bite its legs.
But this is the day where the sheep all gather together,
Bleating and laughing as time passes,
So the wolf must go join what he can't abide.
And the sheep know he comes to join them—
They know there may be a thief among them,
Whether or not he feels guilt for his violence, once or twice a week.
So he bites a leg…

And hears a growl,
As that sheep turns to him,
Loosely fitting skin folded over a mouth of sharp teeth.
Astonishment, as the wolf draws back
And falls in the wet grass.
The snout of his brother, dressed so wickedly,
Sneers and grins as saliva forms on the lower lip.
You'll ruin everything!
And so the wolf stumbles back to his den, hungry,
But loving the feeling of pain in his belly.
And he blocks off the movies, listening to the songs of dying,

Lambs playing softly in the back.