First, grant me my sense of history: <br />I did it for posterity, <br />for kindergarten teachers <br />and a clear moral: <br />Little girls shouldn't wander off <br />in search of strange flowers, <br />and they mustn't speak to strangers. <br /> <br />And then grant me my generous sense of plot: <br />Couldn't I have gobbled her up <br />right there in the jungle? <br />Why did I ask her where her grandma lived? <br />As if I, a forest-dweller, <br />didn't know of the cottage <br />under the three oak trees <br />and the old woman lived there <br />all alone? <br />As if I couldn't have swallowed her years before? <br /> <br />And you may call me the Big Bad Wolf, <br />now my only reputation. <br />But I was no child-molester <br />though you'll agree she was pretty. <br /> <br />And the huntsman: <br />Was I sleeping while he snipped <br />my thick black fur <br />and filled me with garbage and stones? <br />I ran with that weight and fell down, <br />simply so children could laugh <br />at the noise of the stones <br />cutting through my belly, <br />at the garbage spilling out <br />with a perfect sense of timing, <br />just when the tale <br />should have come to an end.<br /><br />Agha Shahid Ali<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wolf-s-postcript-to-little-red-riding-hood/
