Little Red

the guise he paraded was pretty
a college boy, blonde, with Grecian

pecs, the wolfish pelt just
barely peeping from the collar

of his soft Gucci sweater
and chaste designer jeans

but he skulked between the school
and the Putt Putt like a dog

hunting things in the gloom—
the wounded pixie with her

frayed cuffs, dragging dreams
that drooling snout goaded

by the perfume of young blood
between unabridged thighs



Contributor’s Notes: Jessica Housand-Weaver is a nationally published creative writer in fiction and poetry as well as an MFA graduate student at The University of Arkansas at Monticello. She graduated from the University of New Mexico with a BA in Anthropology and was nominated for the Jack Kent Cooke Graduate Arts Award. She is also co-editor of UAM’’s new magazine, Gravel: A Literary Journal. Her publication and award credits include or are upcoming in: Stone Soup MagazinePoetic Voices MagazineThe Dark Fiction SpotlightMused-The BellaOnline Literary ReviewMocha Memoirs PressMalpais ReviewPoetry PacificThe New Poet, and Crack the Spine, among others.