Dire Wolf

In order to survive
the changing climate,
I shall fight the natural order
and become the extinct dire wolf.
Six foot tall at the shoulder
and a stone match for anything that moves,
I’ll be regenerate tooth and claw
in a land of current rabbits.

Everyone will be taken by surprise.
People will demand proof of my existence
even as I lay waste to the countryside.
Experts will shake their heads and deny it,
victims will point at their wounds,
and while the debate rages
I’ll be licking my atavistic balls
in pleasure over it all
because I know better
than any of them do
how irrelevance itself can lead to
this kind of savage rebirth
Ignore some people long enough
and they die quietly; ignore others
and they come back as the monsters
you dimly recall  which you haven’t seen in years.

One day, after a distinguished history of rampage,
someone will shoot me
and won’t they all be amazed at my carcass:
the stiff fur,
the mange,
the blood on my jaws.
They’ll mount me somewhere public,
I’ll grow dusty again,
and schoolkids will point at me on field trips.

I’ll have a plaque at my feet
explaining the whole damn story…

and a neat little button
that when pressed
will let them hear my howl.