Beware of Domestic Werewolf

Sally Courtois

There is urine on the seat again. At this point, I know a “sorry” is not a promise.

I can’t tell you that though, Or you’ll stop saying it.

I’m warning you. I’m dangerous.

Don’t interrupt me, Stop nodding your head When I know you’re not listening,

And next time we exchange some “You always!” ’s and “Give me just one example!” ’s, You must run.

People like me, In relationships like mine, Have been known to kill their lovers.

Waking up in a mess of shed hair And warm blood. Claws just starting to sink Back into the Hades of fingertips. Ears no longer spires.

For the less evolved, The coccyx will be throbbing.

We then gather our weakened senses, lick our wounds and pretend to mop this moment from memory.

Damned to pay our dues with Please and thank you’s, apologies, and pride, I’ll still do my best to crave you.

But this is slowly becoming the hardest chore. And I notice the bed gets smaller by the year.