causes me to howl.
The strong urge to run
and chase after loud fire trucks
is hard to control.
I constantly push
my overgrowing chest hair
back into my shirt.
I walk down the streets
like a pied piper for dogs
who follow behind.
Frequent fantasies
involve Rose rubbing fingers
behind my earlobes.
How can werewolves die?
“Silver bullets through the heart”
seems most consistent.
Should I really dodge
only the silver bullets?
I bet lead hurts, too.
It is hard to check
the type of metal bullet
when it’s fired at you.
“Lycan” or “Wolfman” -
it comes down to preference.
I prefer “Werewolf.”
Take lycanthropy,
subtract the long teeth and hair:
Cannibalism.
Science might call it
clinical lycanthropy -
with less delusion.
Cannibalism
is a fairly glaring con,
but there are some pros.
61 That thinning bald patch
that had started to peek through
no longer exists.
My head still itches,
weeks after I’m a werewolf,
from leftover ticks.
It’s hard to eat food
when my head leans over plates
and bugs jump for it.
A werewolf headache -
my scalp is a battlefield
between ticks and lice.
With so many bugs,
I try not to scratch my scalp
or my hands get wet.
My lice look like salt
and my ticks look like pepper
falling in my lunch.
I need a hairbrush
with a much longer handle
to get to my back.
When I comb my head
I usually end up
combing my face, too.
My hairbrush is gross,
filled with knots of hair and twigs
and maybe some veins.
When I take showers,
I tend to use as much Nair
as I do shampoo.
I shave my palms now,
since work friends like to make jokes -
which can turn awkward.
The term “moonstrating”
some might find a bit vulgar,
but it is fitting.
One cycle a month,
my hormones get out of whack
and blood is involved.
I get real moody
when it’s that time of the month.
I cry more at songs.
I’m the only guy
who has monthly circled dates
on his calendar.
My new life is odd
but it is so much more fun,
dear haiku journal.
Dear haiku journal,
You’re not going to believe
what the new me did!
I could never do
what I did this afternoon
before that dog bite.
Should I be nervous
if the werewolf part of me
gives me confidence?
On Rose’s front porch,
I stood and knocked on her door.
Then Iasked her out.
She said, “Yes!” to me,
and we were both caught off guard
when I said, “That’s right.”
Maybe it’s just me,
but when did Rose’s pants leg
become seductive?
We went out for steak.
I ordered a rare sirloin.
She got a salad.
As fate would have it,
she’s a vegetarian.
I’m the opposite.
Before I was bit,
I had never kissed a girl -
but that changed tonight.
Right around the time
she said she loved animals,
I grabbed her and kissed.
It could have gone worse,
though most kissing fantasies
have less fighting back.
My tongue in her mouth
probably reminded her
of a piece of meat.
She got a taxi
and I drove home by myself,
proud that I made out.
My beautiful Rose:
Know that wherever you run,
I’ll be chasing you.
Who I wish I was,
the wolf helps me to become,
dear haiku journal.
Dear haiku journal,
A whole bottle of mouthwash
can’t kill my cat breath.
Is it raspberry
or blood stains under my nails?
I’ll guess raspberry.
Rabies prevention -
once atopic I would mock,
now one I Google.
If you think tacos
are hard for you to digest,
try passing chipmunks.
I wake up at night
with an awkward new desire
to go pee outside.
In conversation,
burping up a severed toe
can make things awkward.
When the moon is full
in the middle of the day -
those days suck for me.
Werewolves leave claw marks
on trees, cars, et cetera,
because it feels good.
Like a hand massage,
clawing makes small vibrations
that help calm me down.
I can’t remember
if wanting to lick people
is something that’s new.
Delivering mail
seems like it would go faster
running on all fours.
My job is harder
since now when I see rabbits,
I have to chase them.
Eating fat people
is like digesting fast food.
Good now; hurts later.
People in good shape
are like eating fruit smoothies -
with chunks of raw meat.
If you often say,
“His bark is worse than his bite,”
we have yet to meet.
Think my waist will tear
these XXXL sweatpants,
dear haiku journal?
Dear haiku journal,
I have had a x#23! rough morning,
so pardon these swears smears.
You ever wake up
and find one eye is missing?
That was my morning.
I learned the hard way,
if you’re injured as a wolf,
those injuries stay.
Feeling immortal,
I let some girl throw a punch,
and now I’m one-eyed.
My right left eye’s last view
was her car keys in her hand
as she punched my face.
I would have stopped her,
had I known that werewolf eyes
would never grow back.
I think I won though.
She may have taken my eye,
but I took her hip.
While I can still see,
she is no longer walking -
or living, really.
She went down fighting.
In fact, currently, her hip
is causing heartburn.
My missing eyeball
will be a bit hard to hide
while bringing the mail.
I’m staring for hours,
with a flashlight and mirror,
into my socket.
Though not hygienic,
touching inside my eye hole
is hard to pass up.
It’s hard to erase
the urge to fill the socket
with a play-doh ball.
When I close my eye,
is that considered blinking,
or is it winking?
My newest pet peeve
is when my useless eyelid
sticks inside the hole.
Temporary fix:
With a napkin and duct tape,
I cover the hole.
Glass eyeballs online
take six weeks to deliver
and cost a month’s pay.
Only costume shops
with large pirate selections
sell eyeball patches.
I bought an eye patch
but had to cover over
the anchor image.
When people question,
I blame LASIK surgery:
“Never use coupons.”
My depth perception
makes you seem further away,
dear haiku journal.