Werewolves: Poem by and Interview with David Aristi

by
Seth Copeland, Publishing Editor
Sydney Vance, Senior Poetry Editor

Werewolf Viejo
By David Aristi

Gold been beaten outta me by
Every passing year, lo que queda
Funciona despacio — what’s left
Works slowly.
The beastly things
I miss, but in war, South Central, or in Juarez
Juárez La Jodida
Or think Aleppo, those goat & sheep sins would be laughable
Today

Confieso porque me he vuelto demasiado viejo para presidió
I confess because I just turned too old for hoosegow:
I’d need Viagra for the Moon now: I can bathe for hours in
Her boob milk light and still remain
A pure old man standing in the night,
Tan Viejo que hecha de menos odiar su bastón
So old that he misses hating his walking stick.
I’ve been known to bring dead pigeons
To the doormat of the widow
To express my affections, but leaving room for doubt, for kicks.
Till one day on Christmas I show up with a feather in my hat

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