Bedtime With The Wolf by Ian Lewis Copsetick

Brit Grit, Ian Copestick, Poetry, Punk Noir Magazine

Bedtime With The Wolf

I get out of a red hot bath,
And due to the cold
Shiver and shake like a
Withdrawing alcoholic.
Towel myself off as quickly
As I possibly can. Get my
Pyjamas on and slip into
A nice warm bed. I pour
Myself a strong drink,
Light a cigarette and try
To decide what music to
Listen to. For a while I
Can’t decide between the
Blues or something a bit
More recent. I put on
” Dragnet ” by The Fall,
It’s a great record, but
It’s just not doing it for
Me. It’s just not scratching
My itch. So I change it for
A Howling Wolf greatest
Hits. Yes, that hits the
Spot, there’s something
In Chester Burnett’s big
Booming voice that just
Feels right, and what I
Need to hear tonight.
With a voice as strong
As his it seems wrong
That he could possibly
Be gone. How could
Such a man do such
A mundane thing as
To die. It’s just not
Right. The Howling Wolf,
It sounds like the name
Of a superhero, to me
He is.
And always will be.

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Photo by Caryn on