The werewolf kept pounding on
my front door, reinforced with steel.
He kept howling annoyingly,
not knowing what he was dealing with.
When he wasn’t a werewolf, he
was a guy named Leonard,
whose wife I’d been with, but
only once until I found out she
was a werewolf too and married.
Being an oddity myself, I didn’t
mind the werewolf part. It was
the married, taken, part that
deterred me. Despite my failings,
I have my principles. But back to
werewolf Leonard. His howling
finally got on my last nerve, and
I morphed into my vicious alien
form and sliced and diced him
like I had done with cows I mutilated
in farmer’s fields all over the USA.
Bob Boyd