The big bad wolf’s plea bargain


At dinnertime in central park,
I prepare my meal and contemplate,
Of times long past and dark,
When all the stories congregate,
At the others I growl and bark,
In the stories I the reprobate,

First I saw, the pig with house of straw
As materials go not the best,
To puffs and a howl show it’s flaw,
And the weather takes care of the rest,
But the winds from which still brings awe
And that pig was such a pest,

Next I saw the porcine of wood,
Stubborn he still held a grudge,
But bad architecture did what it could,
Against gael force it had to budge,
I blew down his house twas common good,
The demolition order signed by a judge,

At last there is the brick house pork,
As proud as he was before,
Yet lived in basement in New York,
And remembered with fear our war,
His constructing withstood windy torque,
No damage to his décor,

But memories drift back to the hood,
The skipping girl laughing draped in scarlet,
My role in her tale misunderstood,
Of the tale she is the starlet,
There in the brilliant twilight she stood,
Times are kind to this old varlet,

So her grandmother yes I ated,
And yes I have big eyes,
That damn exchange I always hated,
When ensconced in grandma’s guise,
And it was only hunger I wished sated,
There was no malice as the tale implies,

It’s my place in these tales that make me sad
For the wolf is always the villain,
And the tales has changed so much I’m mad,
Since the invention of penicillin,
I never sought to be so big and bad,
Cause my stomach needed fillin,

Now that time is sadly ended,
And they are nougth but story,
None of these fences have mended,
In memory of past glory,
None my hunger suspended,
I bring my thoughts to someplace gory,

So I sit to my picnic meal,
With that scarlet harlot blanket beside,
And to my main course reveal,
And to the darker menu guide,
She knows for a fact it isn’t veal,
She smiles as her own hunger I provide.