Darren Bifford
“Wolf Hunter”

So there you are, little wolf, sole king of the Arctic,
you’ll howl to the moon and be the beast
of picture books, frighten my children, eat
poor farmers’ chickens and cats won’t you?
Isn’t that what you were made for—to show
your teeth, bristle and growl and run away?
But now, here, for us you’ll be showcased, look!
Fast as you can you sprint across the plateau,
scurry your best getaway routine, what part-
chance in a million you’ve got, wolf, I’ll tell you
the odds are stacked against you but what
do you know of odds, of being the prize
of a two-year wait-list to this one ride north?