The Hunger Games (Poetry)

The wolves are prowling round the walls —
their circle silent, blending grey
saliva dripping from their jaws
their shadows loom — then lope away...

We know they’re out there in the trees
tradition keeps that image sharp
and feeds sensations of unease —
eternal hunters haunt the dark

with yellow eyes that pierce the gloom —
pick out the isolated stray
beneath a wan and cold-faced moon
a killer stalks his hapless prey.

A growl — a leap — a snap — a squeal
then horror holds its breath again
the starving victor claims a meal
while bellies rumble — brood on pain.

Raw-boned, rough-haired in werewolf coats —
no hint of humankind remains
as howling fills blood-thirsty throats —
chill prelude to the hunger games.