The Woolf's postscript to 'LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD'

 The Wolf's Postscript to 'Little Red Riding Hood' 

Agha Shahid Ali - 1949-2001 

First, grant me my sense of history: 

I did it for posterity, 

for kindergarten teachers 

and a clear moral: 

Little girls shouldn't wander off 

in search of strange flowers, 

and they mustn't speak to strangers. 

And then grant me my generous sense of plot: 

Couldn't I have gobbled her up 

right there in the jungle? 

Why did I ask her where her grandma lived? 

As if I, a forest-dweller, 

didn't know of the cottage 

under the three oak trees 

and the old woman lived there 

all alone? 

As if I couldn't have swallowed her years before? 

And you may call me the Big Bad Wolf, 

now my only reputation. 

But I was no child-molester 

though you'll agree she was pretty. 

And the huntsman: 

Was I sleeping while he snipped 

my thick black fur 

and filled me with garbage and stones? 

I ran with that weight and fell down, 

simply so children could laugh 

at the noise of the stones 

cutting through my belly, 

at the garbage spilling out 

with a perfect sense of timing, 

just when the tale 

should have come to an end. 

Summary 

Once upon a time, there was a little girl. Her grandmother gave her a red riding hood, 

and the girl loved it so much she wore it all the time—so everybody started to call her 

Little Red Riding Hood.