The Plight of the Werewolf

What’s the use of an uhrhymed werewolf

with metered claws and jaundiced teeth?

It’s still of Mexico, the gulf

between the surface and what lies beneath.

We could all throw back our heads,

open our throats and bay,

full-throttled from our beds

at a moon visible by day.

A few tufts of fur, coarse and wiry

Dilated pupils seeking, scanning

the landscape with bloodlust so fiery

the flames dance, undulate their own fanning.

Oh, what was lost, ego and pride,

in a slow death of decorum

where this new queen shall preside

and reject the entire rest of the forum.

*author note: written off the cuff in a fit of pique during an exchange about form and structure, just to make a point about rhyme and meter.