The nightingale too, who was gnawing a shoe,
Added to this reflection: “I’m writing a play,
About eagles and chickens, who fight like mad dogs”,
But no bird was listening: all flew away.

The nightingale stared like a hawk at the floor,
And decided to burrow himself in the ground.
He made hence a tunnel, he pecked up the dirt,
And he slid down it slowly, not making a sound.

He had then buried himself all alive,
Whilst sparrows and starlings were afloat in the air,
And while he was writhing and suffocating in dirt,
The birds all above didn’t see, know or care.

Ten days, maybe more later, he lay in his grave,
And I wandered by in a bit of a daze,
But I could smell rotting, so up him did dig,
From the soil and the clays.

Maggot-infested his body was writhing,
And made me feel sick so I threw him aside.
I stared to the air where the birds were all screaming,
I screamed to them back: “How the nightingale died.

“You did not but care as you flew in the air,
You left him alone to commit suicide.”
They all flew away, wouldn’t listen to me,
So off did I run, back to home, back to hide,

Or so I’d have done had this thing not occurred,
When I was accosted, though not by a bird:
A couple approached me, a woman, a man,
And said with a grunt: “Dear, you look so absurd!

“With your hair all a-spiky, you look like a chicken,
And your arms are so hairy, they seem more like wings.”
They turned to each other and winked with a smile:
“We’ll cage him tonight and we’ll see if he sings!”

And just so they did, as they dragged me along,
By my long spiky hair down the stony footpath,
Back to their old cottage, which was covered in slime,
Then they stared at each other and gave out a laugh.

“Now get out the cage, we’ll imprison him slowly,
We’ll stuff him right in and we’ll see if he squeals,
Then we’ll prod him with a fork just to see if he sings.
If he will not, we’ll eat him - that’s four or five meals!”

I put up a struggle, I bit and I punched,
But I’m not a fighter, so soon was I caged.
They wanted a song like a sad lullaby,
But I just wouldn’t have it, as madly I raged.

“I choose the songs here, the ones that I like”,
I said in defiance, I stood up with pride,
But they would not have it, my masters they were,
And so they took me outside,

And one lit a fire, the other sharpened a knife,
They were going to eat me for supper or dinner,
But I was now growing, I broke out my cage,
And at seven feet seven said: “I’ll be the winner!”

My teeth were fast growing like daggers or spikes,
And my fingernails too looked now more quite like claws.
My muscled were bulging, my face growing red,
With my eyes now a-blazing, I gritted my jaws,

Yet they weren’t afraid, were this woman and man,
As I tore them to pieces then ate with a spoon,
Every piece of their bodies, each last piece of flesh,
And standing above was the smiling full moon.

See, I am a werewolf, what few people know,
And I am quite deadly, although I look weak,
So if you pass by me at that time of month,
Just smile politely, and do not dare speak.


© 2001 Matt Everett