Now enters a wolf.
Thinking to rob a fowl from Grandma,
He lopes to her bungalow. "Drat."
Granny lies ill in bed, no chicken on the spit.
So, he gobbles the aged dame.
He dons her rosiest gown.
He takes up her curling iron
And puts some wave in his gray locks.
That wild dog suddenly feels
Like a river in the moonlight.
Giggling, he puts on mascara.
He guzzles from a bottle of Shalimar.
Yuck! He burps up the old lady.

Nana comes out howling!
"Damn you, dog!
Ooh," she catches sight
Of his gussied-up self. "Say,
You look a might like my sister Vi,
Bless her furry soul. She's dead
These 20 years." From stories of Violet,
Grandma goes on to enthrall the wolf
With tales of her own coquette days.
Her hazel eyes twinkle like a fairy wand.
The wolf purrs in excitement,
"Come on, you winsome bitch,
Let's paw our way to Pleasure Land."
Hand-in-hand, they sashay out the door,
Baying for joy.

Copyright © 2000 President and Fellows of Harvard College.
All rights reserved. Comments. Last modified Fri, Oct 6, 2000.