Pam Clements

The wolf who lives with me
stays second in the pack
because I growl at him at midnight
moving him out of
the best part of the bed.

The wolf who lives with me
wails with distant ambulances, singing
as if he’s found his former tribe.

The wolf who lives with me
herds postal carriers, cats
and tries to herd myself
until I growl at him again.

The wolf who lives with me
paces from fence to fence,
antic, anticipating enemies (or squirrels)
who breach the sidewalk or the porch.

The wolf who lives with me
as second-in-command
as guardian of this triple-specied pack
makes sure that all his beings
return to their proper cave
each nightfall.