Steven Stewart, Crying Wolf

Rosemary Bailey, Pen 3


Crying Wolf

Everyone knew
the story,
so when the boy
cried wolf,
no one came.

Some villagers
went looking
for him
a couple days later,
but by then
there wasn’t
much left.

Steven Stewart


Review by Massimo Fantuzzi

Ah… the jolly good old days when wolves were the threat and not the threatened; the days when stories were remembered for their moral teaching and not for the looming prospect of a national test; the days when kids were taught by Nature without having to fight for its survival.

As it proceeds to look behind the curtain, this composition hits like a cold shower, stripping every character of this societal roleplay off their mask, leaving them with no safety net, prompter’s box, or second chances.

On a personal level, I’ve always rooted for our majorly misrepresented canine friend; it has cost me more than one set of stitches as I keep forgetting no matter how many times I’m told, I taste just like pork.


Review by Jared Pearce

The first two lines disallow me from thinking the poem is just another take on the old fable.  Rather, I must consider the poem in a various way, perhaps as a comment on the larger considerations of belief, warning, and fear against the truth the world is prepared to hand us—and which it does, over and over again, if we’re ready to take it.  The stark and sparse lines are a double-down on a consideration of the world and of life that shows the truth is out there, despite our stories, our flimsy life-links to presumed safety or community.

Scroll to Top