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Oozing forth from frothy waters
We can barely see the lurking presence
It falls upon us like an accordion
It corrupts our souls like a banjo
Fangs or claws, but not both
We cannot see which
Someone yells “lycanthropy”
And the trees begin to cower under the full moon
Our wallets fall out of our pockets
Spontaneously exhibiting our fear
And our apprehensive feelings towards
The weird frog about to leap out of a pine tree
It takes flight on its unnatural wings and
Enters the gates of hell

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Wheelchair Full of Old Men Michigan

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