Hunter

When you come across a Wolf, grinning,

know that there are three more that

surround you, waiting patient, scheming

to shear wool off a sheep that grew fat

from the Man, his loyal Dogs, his habitat.

They say that mathematics doesn’t lie,

but numbers can be deceiving when

the needy come knocking low and high,

expecting their fair share, their halves,

not a hair less, not a hare more to die.

There are hunters, and then there are the hunted:

Lupi et Lepores