Again the scent
Of wet fur and burnt grass
Returns to this humble abode
The wolfman is crashed on my couch,
curled ball that twitches and growls
In slumber, a comfortable comforting
Old friend, though strange even to I
Who rests by the window
Empty wine glass in hand,
Taking in the music of the night

An hour will pass
And he’ll leap to his feet
Alive! We’re Alive!
We’re not old news
Time to hit the town
And spread some fear!
Time to crash the club
To Monster Mash
Or at least
Hit up McDonalds

Nearly a century has passed
Since our kind ran this town
Since mobs clamored for monsters
On that deadly silver screen
It was a simpler time
When this world was black and white
And we lent our talents
To be the face of fear itself

But times change
And fears with them
So the agents call less
As man haunts himself
And we exit their stage

No matter for me
I told myself
And returned to castles overseas
It was but a footnote, passing moment
In my eternal tale
I’ve still conquests to make
An empire to build
And no time for standing still

But still, I return
to this small apartment
to this once great golden town
where for a time we shined
bright as hellfire
and I did not burn alone

Frank and Gill left long ago
And The Phantom’s reborn on Broadway,
But still one feral fiend
Haunt these streets
for a prey even I
Cannot see

Why do you linger here, Old Friend?
Where the wolfsbane blooms no more
Why not take your talents to far lands
Where legends can live on
For the full moon still shines bright
In Mumbai, Paris, and Rome
And in London’s gloom where rippers reign
All love an American werewolf

But Out, he barks, with reefer glee
We must be on the prowl
And so once more
We ride through night
Towards old familiar haunts

Quick work is made of victims
With teeth and claw and such
Yet thrill and rush elude us both
For yet another night
as with the shadows, now so few,
that once consumed this town of light

Onwards we fly to a familiar club
That still plays my favorite twist
Where the blood is cool, the steak is rare
And good company still rich

But even here there’s no escape
From that frightful march of time
As the once new kids, those strong smug slashers
Sit and ponder their own fame’s demise

Still on we rush at my friend’s request
Till even his strength fails
Till the moon slips away with his
Feral might, leaving only
A tired man by my side

And it is here, in this field,
By a blockbuster’s billboard
that our hunt has met its end
 that we ponder our own monsters
who steals the shadows and intrigue
for this demonic digital age

New day dawns, and I see my friend off
To his cafe day job once more
Before returning to the coffin,
Where I’ll rest, just a bit, before my own
Next venture begins

We shall see better times, Old Friend
Of this, I have no doubt
Like phases of the moon, now’s new darkness
Shall always give way to the full light
Shall always give way to new hopes and horrors
When we’ll howl, hiss, and dine

Far worse things
Await man than death,
Than you or I can ever comprehend
But never will I mourn for us, Old Friend
For we shall always rise again

– Brady Ellis