I put a wolf in the basement
The wolf is arguing with my neighbours.
He is asking to be let out.
He is persuasive, and good at small talk.
He is no danger to them,
but he is a crack in the pipes.
I cannot remove him,
cannot take an axe to his guts.
For he is the threat of rising water.
They do not know why
I locked him up
But they get it, they do,
Because the wolf is not alone.
The basement is filled with rotting boxes
and unused furniture.
Full of memories
that have been gifted
to that room for safe-keeping.
The basement is a reminder
there is no guilt
time cannot erode.
The wolf paces between
Crates stuffed with dusty tomes, old diaries,
postcards and letters.
There are secrets there
and the boxes don’t have to be
filled with blades to
cut open old wounds.
They only have to leave an itch,
make you blush
enough to throw these things into boxes
cover it with sheets and
shape those sheets into a wolf
that comes alive when you’re not there
to argue for its release.
So no matter what he says,
And no matter the threats he makes,
The wolf cannot win because
my neighbour’s wolves
are also in the basement,
sleeping while he’s awake,
they are no danger to me
just thin cracks along the pipes
but if my neighbour’s set mine free
I will take an axe to their cracked pipes
And cause a flood
that will rise through the building
And because I live on the third floor
I will not be the first to drown.
Ross McCleary is from Edinburgh. His work has been published by 404 Ink, Structo, and Litro. He helps runs spoken word open mic Inky Fingers and does Poetry Shows with Andrew Blair under the name Poetry As Fuck.