Practicing to be a Werewolf

It started when I
Didn’t shave for five days.
By the end of five days,
My face wasn’t furry,

But I did look a bit like
Che or Trotsky.
On the fifth night, I went to
The rooftop to harass the full moon.

Its blind eye stared right back,
Unblinking, as I made eye contact with it.
I took a deep breath, like an opera singer,
Then howled at the beauty of endings,

The death of everything little by little,
Bad Chinese food and cold viruses!
My howl set off car alarms,
Startling couples on the verge of coitus.

My pores opened as wide as my mouth,
Hair surged out. Steamy in my new fur,
I tore off my vintage shirt
And hurled it at the moon!

All that was left was to sharpen my teeth.
That was easy: I dashed downstairs to
A costume store just before closing
And bought fake fangs.

When I proudly flashed them,
A pedestrian snickered but shushed
When I growled at her boob job.
For the next hour, I ran up and down

My block, vandalizing car doors with
Improvised claws: apartment keys
Scotch taped to my fingertips.
I stalked superheroes, gangsters, ghosts:

They looked at me nervously
As if I were a dog about to bite.
They should have feared much worse,
For I was a werewolf!

I was the only werewolf in Manhattan,
Practice had paid off.
The best part is I had the heart of a wolf,
Which can’t be broken,

Because animals never fall in love.
It was great to want to bite people
And wreck things! It was great not
To care about etiquette or reputation!

Then, around eleven, mother called
To ask how business was and whether
I had found a nice girlfriend.
I scurried home to shave.