The Business of Wolves

Human Hunger. Corporate Lifestyles. Outcasts. The Animal Inside Us.

Over the water cooler,

I'm a piece in the puzzle,

An interestingly shaped one at that,

And one that the gentlemen surrounding couldn't quite fill,

But good for me,

I'm unique that way,

How I grit my teeth over the meaty lunch sandwich in my mouth,

How my eyes pierce theirs when they try to understand what I am,

Where I've been,

The mustard on my collared shirt,

But I'm not wearing a collared shirt,

I'm not wearing anything at all,

 

I'm caustic, biting, virulent, relentless,

I'm a polarizing person,

They say,

And they like it,

A lot,

They think it's great,

Hilarious,

They wouldn't ever take the ride themselves, but really,

They think I'm going somewhere with it all,

I'll get ahead with that primeval attitude,

Laughing,

But they know they're right,

 

“He's so strange,” they tell themselves,

“I'm just a ghostly mirage,” I whisper back,

The cold breath seeping through their co-written vision,

A curious, abstract face in the background of an illustrious painting,

The Joy of Simplicities in Company Incorporated,

 

These people share eyes for each other,

For themselves more specifically,

No doubt,

They tell their stories,

They laugh,

Their mirror-like smiles reflecting off their drawn-on faces,

I've seen it,

Eyes glazed over in a binding, momentary friendship,

Committing with their teeth in a covenant of aesthetic comradeship,

 

“What an interesting case study,” they say in broken unison,

Not knowing what to make of it all,

Trying not to misstep into each other's shadows more likely,

How little they understand the patchwork from hardened flesh they lack in their own wardrobes,

A get up they threw out a long time ago,

Underneath the crushing facade of fashionable friendship is their own nakedness,

a trash that's turning into flattened compost,

ready to be crushed as they quietly hiss to their trophy wives in the morning,

the stale burnt cardboard on their breath when their eyes slowly adjust to the light outside,

They worry separately amongst themselves,

Trying to forget me,

But they can never unsee the look in my eyes,

 

The one that stares back in the mirror every morning,

Under all their conceptions of what I am,

Their limited brush strokes allowing,

I'm just like them,

I'm hungry,

So hungry,

Starving even,

I'm outside, weathering this snowstorm alone,

Roaming the tundra of humanity for my next meal,

And when we go out for lunch,

I'm still hungry,

I'll be ordering my steak bloody.