Wolfalo don’t know what to eat.

A witch beguiled him.

He can’t tolerate meat,

But grass gives him the runs.

He’s half wolf,

Half buffalo,

But he can’t live on cinnamon buns forever.

If he could go back in time,

And re-arrange the spell,

And change the words

He heard the wicked woman say,

Get his money back

For what she tried to sell him,

And what he bought instead.

Then his dna would be pure,

Not iron mingled with clay

As all the rest of the modern world.

Then he could have something to say

By being better than

The rest of us.

Alas! He opens his StickyBun,

Peels the plastic wrap away,

And throws it in the recycle bin

Like a good little Wolfalo,

And turns his tv on.

He tries not to listen

To them tell him what to think,

But he has to listen a little bit

To get ideas of what to eat and drink now,

So he watches Rachel Ray,

Has a glass of bourbon,

Howls at the moon.

He’s half nocturnal, now.

He stamps his hooves

And waits for morning to come,

So he can not sleep then either.

-jenn