Pack Appetites

I am the wolf who threatened the pigs
living in houses of straw, sticks and bricks.
I huffed and I puffed and I blew down
the shacks, but not the house properly founded.
That masoned creation held steady despite my hot air
and a mad desire for fresh bacon.
My cardiologist said to lay off the fat
so I guess the bricks really did me a favor.

I am the wolf who ate one recluse grandmother
and one stupid girl in a red hooded cloak
as red as my thin, shriveling insides
which became my outsides when the hunter arrived.
Mother always said I'd have to work for my meals -
she never told me I'd have to wear a nightgown.
All I wanted, really, was the goodies in Red's basket
which went instead to the fat old lady with the itchy lace bonnet.

I am the wolf that Peter saw
after he told his mother, his brother, his father,
his neighbors, his girlfriend and his entire hometown
that there was a large, hairy wolf snacking on mutton.
I was flattered, really, that he exaggerated my appearance,
which may not have been exactly truthful to begin with.
Hey, but who am I to judge? These days it's hard
to get attention without making a scene.