WOLF RESPONDS TO REVIEWS OF AN OFF-BROADWAY PRODUCTION OF RED
RIDING HOOD
It’s ridiculous, an actor of my stature
appearing off-Broadway, but they lost their lead-
mugging or something-just prior to opening. My name
lends credence to a new company, new production.
We do that in theater. My name is synonymous
with the role, you know; I’ve toured seven countries
in it. Up for a Tony in ’53! Played Three Pigs
at the London Palladium.
I was never given rewrites!
Was in my dressing room through Act I, on stage
when the curtain rose for II. Then, she jogs on in leotard
and tights! And, let me tell you, she don’t know wildflowers.
Thistles, she picks! Thistles! And, I’m allergic! But,
consummate professional that I am, I saved the scene.
Didn’t sneeze once. Held it in. And, this the critic calls
histrionics. He knows nothing! The crowd was on its feet
when the curtain fell.
Act III opened on me in Granny’s nightgown. She
didn’t even question the size of my eyes, ears, teeth!
Didn’t give any cues! Just, “You’ve eaten Granny!”
then turns, and … no Woodsman! Just a shavehead
wearing metal enough for a chain-link fence! I figure
he shot my predecessor! Of course I scream-
though not like a girl, as the review says! Of course I faint!
And, this … this critic calls the production “avant-garde,”
calls it “fresh and original!” Fresh and original, my furry ass!
He praises that spandex bimbo! Praises the lout in leather!
Calls me “melodramatic,” “farcical,” “past his prime!”
The two of them must be sleeping with him! I’m synonymous
with that role! Didn’t get any rewrites, I tell you!
Wait! Come back! I’ve toured SEVEN COUNTRIES …
STANDING OVATIONS ALL THE WAY …
DON’T GO … LISTEN … I PLAYED THREE PIGS
AT THE PALLADIUM …
There’s never a shepherd around when you need one
Mary came to mistrust her little ovine friend.
Oh, sure, classmates adored his snow-white fleece,
laughed and played when he followed her to school,
lolled on the stairs outside English 321. Mary, flattered,
soon learned that big eyes miss no detail, big ears,
no conversation. Gifts appeared in her locked car,
apartment: chocolates first, and roses, later, lingerie,
sex toys. Mary asked for a restraining order, but police,
disarmed by his easy manner, dazzling fleece,
overlooked the ruff of thick, brown fur at his collar,
bristled tail tucked into trousers, pricking of pointy ears.
Did no one else hear the padding of lupine feet,
scritch of claws on terrazzo? See the large teeth,
long tongue, slaver of drool as the fat sergeant
set aside soda bread and mutton to take a statement?
Mary moved frequently, installed deadbolts, alarms,
never went anywhere alone. Their first, their only date,
she remembered, had been delightful: his old-world
manners, keen attentiveness, avid listening. He seemed
like such a lamb.
————
Ann says: “I am a long time member of Dallas Poets Community, a 501-(c )-3 literary non-profit. I serve on its board and edit its semi-annual journal, Illya’s Honey. My work appears in various small journals, most recently, Avocet, Barbaric Yawp, Third Wednesday, and Main Channel Voices. Work is upcoming in Texas Poetry Calendar and Main Street Rag, as well as an anthology from the UKs Zocalo Press.”