Werewolf HAIKU

by Ryan Mecum

  Werewolf HAIKU

  Ryan Mecum

  Dear haiku journal,

  I think I killed some people.

  That was no dog bite.

  This journal contains the poetic musings of a mailman who, after being bitten by what he thinks is a dog, discovers that he is actually now a werewolf. Wreaking havoc wherever he goes, he details his new life and transformations in the 5-7-5 syllable structure of haiku?his poetry of choice.

  Follow along as our werewolf poet slowly turns from a mostly normal man into the hairy beast that he cannot keep trapped inside. And watch out for carnage when he changes and becomes hungry. No toenail, no entrail, no pigtail will be left behind. And talk about wreaking havoc: His newfound claws and teeth have sent his clothing budget through the roof!

  He is in love with a woman on his route, but he has never had the courage to tell her. As he fights against his urges during each full moon, he discovers that succumbing to his primal instincts will not only bag him a good meal?it just might help him in his quest for love…Or maybe not.

  Ryan Mecum

  Werewolf HAIKU

  Copyright © 2010 by Ryan Mecum.

  This journal belongs to

  Dear haiku journal:

  This could be my last entry

  if I have rabies.

  A stray dog bit me

  while I delivered the mail.

  Should have used the mace.

  “He was a mailman

  and a struggling poet

  who died by dog bite.”

  The dog seemed homeless.

  It looked like a rabid wolf,

  hungry for mailmen.

  I kicked and he ran -

  but not before he bit off

  a big chunk of calf.

  I finished the route,

  hobbling to each mailbox,

  and thinking of Rose.

  Rose is my lady,

  but she might not know it yet

  since we’ve yet to speak.

  I’m introverted

  and I would guess she is, too,

  judging by her mail.

  We differ in ways.

  She subscribes to Cat Fancy.

  I get Dog Fancy.

  I limp through her yard

  and as I fill her mailbox,

  she opens her door.

  With her lovely smile,

  Rose greets me with a hello.

  I nod back and leave.

  I’ve always been shy,

  which is why I don’t respond

  and why I’m alone.

  I like to pretend

  I will ask Rose out someday,

  since I won’t for real.

  MY STALKER LOVE SONG MIX!

  1. Blondie – One Way or Another

  2. The Police – Can’t Stand Losing You

  3. Cheap Trick – I Want You To Want Me

  4. U2 – I Will Follow

  5. Backstreet Boys – As Long As You Love Me

  6. David Seville – Witch Doctor

  7. Screaming Jay Hawkings – I Put a Spell on You

  8. The Stranglers – In the Shadows

  9. Darren Hayes – Creepin’ Up on You

  10. Diana Ross – I’m Gonna Make You Love Me

  11. Duran Duran – Hungry Like the Wolf

  12. Sarah McLachlan – Possession

  13. Fleet wood Mac – Say You Love Me

  14. Death Cab For Cutie – I Will Possess Your Heart

  15. The Police – Every Breath You Take

  16. Morrissey – The More You Ignore Me, The Closer I Get

  17. Meatloaf – I’d Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That)

  18. Michael Bolton – How Am I Supposed to Live Without You

  19. Billy Ocean – Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car

  20. Bryan Adams – (Ever ything I Do) I Do It For You

  21. Elvis Costello – I Want You

  When I get back home,

  I play my love mix CD,

  write haiku and cry.

  What a rotten day!

  I dodge the girl of my dreams

  and I’m still bleeding.

  Lupé my Shih Tzu

  sniffs at my gouged-out calf wound

  and whimpers away.

  The cut oozes pus

  and my whole sock is dark red

  from blood draining down.

  All around the wound

  are many long strands of hair…

  which are not from me.

  Rubbing alcohol

  burns as I clean out the cut,

  visibly throbbing.

  I’ll wrap my dog bite,

  fall asleep on the front couch,

  and dream about Rose.

  That’s it for now, friend.

  I’ll write in you tomorrow,

  dear haiku journal.

  Dear haiku journal,

  I think I killed some people.

  That was no dog bite.

  What happened last night?

  My selective memory

  is a bit hazy.

  It wasn’t a dream,

  due to my lack of clothing,

  and I’m really full.

  I woke up naked,

  sprawled in a stranger’s front yard.

  Rough start to a day.

  You hate alarm clocks?

  Try automatic sprinklers

  with you in grass, nude.

  “Looks like you woke up

  on the wrong side of the bed”

  should now be retired.

  From now on, I’ll say,

  “Looks like somebody woke up

  outside, nude and wet.”

  My mind starts to fill

  with memories of chaos

  and eating neighbors.

  The woman next door

  with that huge mole on her neck -

  I think I ate it.

  It’s an odd feeling

  when realization hits -

  that now I murder.

  Sprinting to my house,

  while covering my privates,

  through suburbia.

  Kids at their bus stop

  are not sure how to react

  as I run past them.

  “Bus driver, guess what?

  We just saw some naked dude,

  covered all in blood!”

  I’m not wearing pants,

  which means no front pants pockets,

  which means no house keys.

  Banging on my door,

  knowing only I live there,

  hoping I answer.

  The “Three Pigs” story -

  a wolf screaming, “Let me in!”

  seems applicable.

  I check the back door,

  which I recall kicking down

  when I left last night.

  I run in my house

  and go straight to a mirror

  to see who I am.

  I stare back at me,

  but I remember the face

  that stared back last night.

  I transformed last night

  from my normal timid self

  to the beast within.

  It was a werewolf.

  A monster – somehow, still me.

  I am a werewolf.

  Painful cramps woke me

  and I rolled down off the couch

  when I turned last night.

  I knew things were bad

  when I could feel skin ripping -

  and could kick down doors.

  Out in the backyard,

  I felt my whole body break

  under the full moon.

  Mailman to werewolf.

  Takes the phrase “going postal”

  to a new level.

  Unfortunately,


  “Man to wolfman” movie scenes…

  painfully dead-on.

  Wolf transformation

  is as rough as you might guess

  but also itchy.

  I’ll try describe

  werewolf metamorphosis

  without throwing up.

  Changing first tickles,

  followed by increased pressure,

  and then you puke blood.

  Your muscles and bones

  both rapidly stretch and grow,

  but your skin doesn’t.

  Your skin everywhere -

  and yes, I mean everywhere -

  is stretched ’til it bursts

  Underneath your flesh,

  new growing muscles peek out

  and start to sprout hair.

  It’s around this time,

  you realize that your clothes

  won’t get worn again.

  Both your eardrums pop,

  then quickly grow back stronger

  as your ears sprout up.

  All your fingernails

  are pushed off of your fingers

  by claws underneath.

  Your large soda gut

  goes from a few two-liters

  to hairy six-pack.

  Your nose, mouth and chin

  tear open as a wolf snout

  pushes through your face.

  Teeth fall to the floor

  as new canine incisors

  cut your old ones out.

  It feels like fingers

  pushing on both your eyeballs

  from inside your skull.

  Your eyes don’t fall out

  but you kind of wish they would

  once they start growing.

  Your pinky fingers,

  as your hands become wolf paws,

  shrivel and fall off.

  Toenails start to split

  as claws pierce out of your toes

  and rip through your shoes.

  That pain in your butt

  that feels like constipation

  is a tail growing.

  smell here

  Your new fur is damp

  from random moist secretions

  and smells like wet dog.

  There’s throbbing, tearing,

  tight nauseating cramping,

  and piles of dead skin.

  ***

  ***

  You see yourself change.

  You feel yourself get hungry.

  You hear yourself howl.

  You tear through your house

  and watch yourself going wild

  out into the night.

  You become primal

  and all night you act so bad

  and it feels so good.

  The beast inside you

  that you always thought was there

  has come out to play.

  You run from your yard

  as a beast into the night,

  looking for some fun.

  You want to find food,

  you want to tear things apart,

  and you want your Rose.

  Howling at the moon

  never makes much sense to you,

  but it feels so good.

  Now, for some reason,

  all you want to do is kill

  your next-door neighbors.

  The first thing you eat

  is a cute little rabbit

  who lived in your yard.

  The next thing you eat

  is a cute little old man

  who lived down the street.

  You kill a pet cat

  and go straight to Rose’s house

  to give her a gift.

  Nothing shows true love

  like a pile of dead house cats

  left on her front porch.

  Everything’s a blur

  mixed with dirt, hair, pain and blood

  until the sunrise.

  The next thing you know,

  you’re normal, naked, outside,

  and your stomach’s full.

  When you transform back,

  it’s not nearly as painful…

  you just shrink and shed.

  Your nose, ears, eyes, teeth,

  pinky fingers, nails and gut

  all grow back in place.

  You must then decide:

  Do you first wash off the blood

  or cover your junk?

  Your next dilemma

  is how to make it back home

  without being seen.

  Once inside your house,

  you find your love mix CD

  smashed into pieces.

  And now here you sit,

  with a neighbor-filled stomach,

  writing poetry.

  …I didn’t make it.

  Writing those last few haiku

  made some puke come up.

  My dog is missing,

  but he must have found those bones

  and brought them inside.

  I’ve got that all wrong.

  Those bones were inside my dog.

  I remember now.

  When one loves one’s pet -

  typically, eating that pet

  is not considered.

  If one can get past

  all the desperate barking,

  raw dog tastes awesome.

  His meaty dog thighs

  were like eating chicken legs

  but with bloody hair.

  I’ll miss my Lupé,

  but with this indigestion,

  I might see him soon.

  A terrible stench

  is seeping out from my pants.

  I think it’s Shih Tzu.

  I should call in sick

  and do some work on my house

  and on my colon.

  Don’t worry, my friend.

  I will write you again soon,

  dear haiku journal.

  Dear haiku journal,

  Are there three full moons a month

  or is there just one?

  Do werewolves transform

  more than just one night a month?

  I’ll find out tonight.

  Not taking chances.

  I should drive way out of town

  to not hurt people.

  Out in the country -

  late afternoon, in my car -

  wearing a sweatsuit.

  Praying clothes don’t rip.

  Praying not to kill again.

  Praying I don’t change.

  Prayer didn’t work

  and neither did the sweat suit.

  Now, where did I park?

  Naked once again.

  Therefore, no keys once again.

  Hope the car’s unlocked.

  A distant farm house

  with four parked ambulances

  brings back memories.

  All those EMTs

  won’t be needing those stretchers.

  Maybe some baggies.

  I find my car locked,

  but that’s not a big problem

  since the windshield’s gone.

  Naked on the hood,

  I climb through the broken glass

  and find my car keys.

  As I drive back home,

  I’m glad I have sunglasses

  to help block the wind.

  A few cars pass me

  as I try to look normal,

  windowless and nude.

  Why is murder wrong?

  The more I think about it,

  the better it sounds.

  That soul inside you -

  it’s what is inside that counts.

  I want your outside.

  Souls are eternal

  and don’t need bodies to live,

  so why the upkeep?

  Souls go to heaven.

  Bodies are just part-time homes.

  Let me help you pack.

  ***

  If heaven sounds nice,

  I’m doing you a favor.

/>   Have fun. I’m eating.

  With all this killing,

  it helps to justify it

  for guilt-free dining.

  Please do not judge me.

  It’s not my fault I’m this way,

  dear haiku journal.

  Dear haiku journal,

  A third full moon is coming.

  I need to prepare.

  I wait in my house

  and sit on my couch naked,

  so I don’t rip clothes.

  The werewolf in me

  can’t care less about our stuff.

  I keep losing doors.

  I take down the screens

  and prop a few doors open

  to better my odds.

  The morning after

  a night of eating people

  can be a bit rough.

  You feel hungover

  after a werewolf evening,

  but with more remorse.

  That guy I ate last,

  I need to get out of me

  and in a toilet.

  When people eat corn

  and spot them in their feces -

  teeth are that way, too.

  The full moon peeks out

  above the horizon line.

  Here we go again!

  Is it terrible

  that I am so excited,

  dear haiku journal?

  Dear haiku journal,

  Sorry I haven’t written.

  It’s been a few months.

  That werewolf problem

  where three days a month I kill…

  it’s still going strong.

  For the past eight weeks,

  I have delivered the mail

  like my life is fine.

  Though mostly normal,

  I have werewolf tendencies

  that last through the month.

  My new unibrow

  is not as embarrassing

  as my new tongue hair.

  My curved fingernails

  are perfect for back scratching

  but bad for wiping.

  All of my senses

  seem about five times stronger -

  which has pros and cons.

  I can hear better,

  even though both my ear holes

  are clogged with whiskers.

  Spiders have eight legs,

  each of which I hear stomping

  on my hardwood floors.

  With heightened hearing,

  current pop songs hurt my ears

  more than they used to.

  Nothing is blurry.

  I no longer need glasses