[18+] Today we present “Finally” a poem by Fritz Wolf. You can find more of his poetry on his website.

Read for you by Rob MacWolf — werewolf hitchhiker.

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https://thevoice.dog/episode/18-finally-by-fritz-wolf

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[18+] “Finally” by Fritz Wolf



Synopsis for Khaki, outlining the poem and the tone.
This is a free-form poem is about reaching that point where you think you’ve finally made it, and everything’s going to be okay, and you realize all you really needed was inside of you.

Genre or genres (for tagging purposes):
LGBTQ, Gay, Queer, Poem, Furry

Content warnings (if any)
Adult Language

Contact info (optional)
Telegram: @fritzywolf
BlueSky: fritzywolf.bsky.social
Email: [email protected]
Other: https://fritzwolfpoetry.wordpress.com/

If there are any words where the pronunciation will be tricky to fit the meter, please include pronunciation guides:
I have a full recording of myself reading the poem here: https://soundcloud.com/fritz-wolf-poetry/finally
In the last line “And I howled”, the howl should actually be a wolf howl, and not the word “howled”.



You’re listening to The

Voice

of

Dog.

This

is

Rob

MacWolf

your

fellow

traveler,

and

Today

we

present “Finally”

a

poem

by

Fritz Wolf.

You

can

find

more

of

his

poetry

on

his

website.

Please

enjoy


“Finally”,

a

poem

by

Fritz

Wolf

Woohoo!

I have

finally

made

it!
Somewhere

in

an

office

park
in

the

middle

of

Everywhere
there

is

a

whitewashed

windowless

room
with

my

name

on

a

glass

door

in

a

high

impact

sans

serif

font.
Inside

that

room

there

is

a

cheap

particle

wood

desk
and

on

that

desk

are

TWO

computer

monitors.

Yes!

Outside

that

room

is

an

endless

hall

of

glass

doors
each

with

another

name

in a

high

impact

sans serif

font.
Some

of

them

only have

one

computer

monitor,

some

may

even

have

three,
and

some

have

so

many

computer

monitors

that

they

overflow

from

the

desk
like

the

most

decadent

fondue

fountain

you

could

possibly

imagine,
keyboard

and

mouse

dipped

in

Parisian

dark

chocolate

and

sprinkled

with

golden

truffle

shavings
but

I,

I

have

two

computer

monitors.

Relentlessly

marching

across

those

monitors
are

sequences

of

numbers,

letters,

and

sometimes

even

jpegs
arranged

in

orders

so

arbitrarily

meaningless
that

sometimes

my

monitors

just

blink

off

by

themselves
committing

innocuous

suicide,

motivated

by

contempt

of

their

slavery.
But

sick

omniscient

mother-effer

that

I

am,

I

turn ‘em

right

back

on
and

give them

more

numbers,

letters,

and

sometimes

even

jpegs,
ammunition

they

use

to

shoot

liquid

crystal

cancer

back

into

my

eyes.

I

work

so

much

overtime

that

I

just

call

it

yesterday.
I

spend 16

hours

a

day

working, 6

hours

sleeping,
and 2

hours

a

day

shitting

brown

water

from

my

hemorrhoids
because

the

only

thing

my

gastrointestinal

tract

knows

how

to

process

is

instant

coffee,
the

kind

that

comes

in

a 3-gallon

ribbed

tin

can
where

the

flaking

paint

on

the

outside

is

the

same

pale

blue

you

see

on

janitorial

uniforms
and

the

white

high

impact

sans

serif

font

printed

on

the

side

says

only

the

word “coffee”,
and

the

word “coffee”

is

in

quotation

marks.

I

work

so

much

overtime

I

haven’t

seen

my

lover

since

the

last

full

moon.
And

at

the

office

park

in

the

middle

of

Everywhere
they

don’t

even

know

I

have

a

lover,

a

damn

good

lover,

a

lover

with

a

penis,
because

knowing

that

might

hurt

my “career”.
They

all

think

I’m

just

an

amorphous

evanescent

asexual

work

dog
who

bows,

begs,

and

fetches.

And

it’s

funny

they

should

call

me

a

dog
because

they

don’t

even

know

what

I

do

on

the

weekends.
They

don’t

know

how

I

pin

a

tail

to

my

ass,
trade

in

my

white

collar

for

one

made

of

black

leather,
and

transform

under

the

pale

sodium-vapor

light

of

whatever

streetlamp

passes

for

a

full

moon

these

days.

My

speech

shifts

from

a

rasp

diction

into

a

chorus

of

animal

growls

and

ululations.
My

fingers

and

toes

stretch

and

splay

as

they

reach

out

for

something

not

made

of

plastic

or

glass.
My

shirt

rips

off

from

the

collar

down,

unable

to

contain

the

tremendous

breadth

of

my

lungs.
I

find

myself

something

soft

and

warm to

sink

my

fangs

into,
bathe

in

the

heat.

But

those

moments

are

as

fleeting

as

they

are

alive.
When

the

weekend

is

over

the

tail

falls

back

off

my

ass,
and

my

neck

falls

back

into

a

much

less

gratifying

kind

of

bondage
but

I

still

bow,

beg,

and

fetch.

During

one

such

extended

internment,
both

of

my

computer

monitors

committed

suicide

at

the

exact

same

time.
They

were

both

off

for

just

long

enough

for

my

consciousness

to

slip

like

an

egg

yolk

into

a

metaphysical

dream

state
where

all the

properties

of

time

and

matter

cracked

and

splintered
like

a

thousand

dropped

Gorilla

Glass

iPhone

screens

all

at

the

same

time.

I

dreamed

that

my

monitors

used

this

brief

lapse

in

their

existence

to

morph

into

bulimic

deconstructivists.
The

numbers,

letters, and

jpegs

bull rushed

my

desk

from

their

shattered

liquid

crystal

prisons
and

shredded

through

the

cheap

particle

wood desk

like

a

whirlwind

of

razor

blades.
They

rip

roared

around

me

in

the

most

liberating

golden

spiral

ever

seen

by

man

or

otherwise.
They

tore

down

the

walls

and

the

doors.
They

decimated

the

high

impact

sans serif

font
like

it

was

Helvetica

or

Comic

Sans.
Within

seconds
they

reduced

every

micrometer

of

the

entire

universe

to a

blank

empty

nothing.

Almost

empty.
Far

away,

somewhere

past

the

miles

of

nothing,
even

though

miles

were immeasurable

and

trying

to

pass

them

was

impossible,
I

saw

myself

standing

with

a

tail

pinned to

my

ass,
my

neck

in

a

black

leather

leash

and

collar,
howling

at

the

moon.

I

looked

up

and

saw

the

moon

too,

opened

my

mouth

wide,
and

it

all

came

retching up

my

throat.
High-impact-sans-serif-whitewashed-windowless-cheap-particle-wood-desk
with

one

two

computer

numbers

letters

sometimes

even…
My

two

computer

monitors

blinked

back

on
and were

docile.

And

I

howled.




This

was “Finally” by Fritz Wolf,

read

for

you by Rob MacWolf,

Werewolf

Hitchhiker.

As

always

you

can

find

more

poems,

and

stories,

on

the

web

at

thevoice.dog, or find the

show

whereever

you

get

your

podcasts.

Thank

you

for

listening

to

The

Voice

of

Dog.