Girls like Wolves

I tried to write a villanelle. Poetry that sticks to a particular form is like playing soccer–the fun is in the strictures. What does ball control look like when you can’t use your hands? How can you build meaning with a line that repeats at a predetermined interval? I enjoyed the challenge. The end result owes an awful lot to Angela Carter.

 

Girls like Wolves

 

Many things are lost in the wood

If you leave the path to stray.

Girls, like wolves, aren’t always good.

 

You keep to the path in a thicket of should

When your choices are wander or stay.

Many things are lost in the wood.

 

The wolf comes asking if you would

Walk off the path; he knows the way.

Girls, like wolves, aren’t always good.

 

Temptation is: you know you could,

Despite what mothers always say:

Many things are lost in the wood.

 

You lick your lips. It’s understood

No one will know if you delay.

Girls, like wolves, aren’t always good.

 

Onto the fire goes the red hood.

What else will you burn today?

Many things are lost in the wood.

Girls like wolves aren’t always good.

 

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