Red-Headed

Sometimes the wolf in me likes to howl
Under a bright full moon & a backdrop of stars.
He is a primal, instinctive animal
& his hunting grounds are the past.

I can prowl at will among the flora & fauna
Of yesterday, there is really nothing to stop me.
I know the streets & the alleyways of these towns
With their familiar odours, sights & sounds.

I know my bearings here & I can choose the time of day
Or more usually the night (which is what he prefers).
He & I are really the same I suppose, although
We may not agree on who exactly is the 'alpha dog'.

Invisibly I trot past the pubs & bars of my youth
Giving them a sideways glance & moving on.
It is always nice to see them again
In all of their former glories, or not, as the case may be.

I have canine hearing & the crackle of vinyl
From an old-style jukebox pricks up my ears,
As familiar tunes begin to move the ether
With percussive bangs moving my very heart.

The smoke from a Gitanes mixed with stale beer
& the piss from a urinal reminds me of shady deals
With shadier dealers of amphetamine highs,
Or Lebanese 'take away' to party & drop with.

There is excitement electric making the air crackle
& fast food vendors can be smelled upwind.
Ululations in the distance, dark foreboding silhouettes,
I move among them, lithe & lissom, svelte & flexile.

But it has to end, the sun will rise, the moon will set
The wolf in me will go to sleep, so I can wake.
Generations nocturnally prowl those grounds
& generations to come will make their own.