The Last Wolf by Mary TallMountain

The Last Wolf

by Mary TallMountain

The last wolf hurried toward me


through the ruined city


and I heard his baying echoes


down the steep smashed warrens


of Montgomery Street and past


the ruby-crowned highrises


left standing


their lighted elevators useless


Passing the flicking red and green


of traffic signals


baying his way eastward


in the mystery of his wild loping gait


closer the sounds in the deadly night


through clutter and rubble of quiet blocks


I hear his voice ascending the hill


and at last his low whine as he came


floor by empty floor to the room


where I sat


in my narrow bed looking west, waiting


I heard him snuffle at the door and


I watched


He trotted across the floor


he laid his long gray muzzle


on the spare white spread


and his eyes burned yellow


his small dotted eyebrows quivered


Yes, I said.


I know what they have done.