Cora Ruskin is a part-time MSc student of Science Communication, and works for a charity that helps victims of crime. Writing gets squeezed in between the two. She is the author of the YA novel Other People’s Butterflies, and blogs at corastillwrites.wordpress.com. She lives in Bristol, England, with five housemates and a very messy kitchen.
The Wulver
There’s fish on the windowsills this morning.
Tins of tuna, cans of salmon,
fresh and cold in the dawn chill.
Nan says it used to be
whole fish, straight from the net,
shining like silver and glass.
She says half the town is broke now.
Covid cutbacks, withered businesses,
universal bloody credit.
On telly, there’s American towns with werewolves.
Nice towns, big houses,
beautiful bedrooms for the girls,
beautiful cars for the boys.
Vicious werewolves that bite very sexily
the bit between a boy’s ribs and hip.
Mysteries that grip like jaws,
murders that don’t feel permanent.
Us, we’ve got the Wulver.
A man’s body, buck-naked,
beer gut and hairy chest.
Three crappy tattoos, arms full of fish.
A wolf’s head, teeth soppily smiling.
Wet nose, soft ears, always here
to help out
and to howl for us
when we’re too busy or tired to howl.