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Poetry/Short Stories

The Werewolf

In respectful imitation of the poem by Morgenstern.
by John C. Reddick

A Werewolf one time burned for knowledge,
And driven by that sacred flame,
(Himself, he had not been to college.)
Left wife and child one night, and came

Among the local graves, and sought
The tomb of that most noble creature,
A Public High School English teacher,
For Exposition of the Plot.

He timidly voiced his conjecture.
The Corpse assented heartily --
(He once, he said, had taught AP) --
And straightway started in to lecture:

"The Werewolf, in a former sense,
Implies the Arewolf (present tense),
The Havebeenwolf (long past, you see),
And Willbewolf, (futurity)."

This learning pleased the Werewolf well,
But he continued: "Can you tell
Me, what is my subjunctive, please?"
The question caused distinct unease.

The teacher therefore gulped, and hissed:
"Werewolves, my good sir, don't exist,"
Bade him, "Good evening," rather stuffily,
And slammed his coffin cover huffily.

This stern decree of Nature's Laws
Gave (so to speak) the Werewolf pause.
He had a wife and child, you know.
He shook his head, and turned to go.

He went like one that Fate did slam
With Love betrayed, or "Rent Due" letter,
But stopped in at "The Slaughtered Lamb",
And ate a tourist, and felt better.

- John C. Reddick