poems

‘Yes, yes,’ said the therapist, briskly. ‘It’s an open-and-shut case. You’ve lost your identity and the new you doesn’t need teeth.’

She cast an eye over the wolf’s lithe figure.

‘Just out of curiosity, what do you eat?’

‘Shakes, mostly,’ said the wolf. ‘It’s a complete diet, only minus the children.’

‘Might be worth a try,’ murmured the therapist. ‘My sister’s getting married next month, you know, and I’d like to be looking my best.’

‘You go grrrl,’ said the wolf, giving her knee a squeeze.

timm in type