Wolf

With his hair cut short
I barely recognise him.

Even with his eyes closed
He still looks angry.
Shy female librarians
Used to send him fanmail,
Begging him to snap
The band that held back
Their cheesewire hair and
Drag them upstairs
Like Cro Magnon Man,
Freshly thawed and horny.

I watch him
Through carburettor steam
Drawn like a conjuror's cape
Across the windscreen.
Long eyelashes of blood
Wed his ear
To the steepled steering column.
The driver's door is scrunched
Like tissue, and as brake
Fluid pools on asphalt
I imagine he is sleeping,
Dreaming of a travellator that never ends.