A Canadian variant of the werewolf. Becoming a loup-garou was a punishment said to be visited on those who didn’t go to church during Lent, and engaged in blasphemous practices such as planting potatoes on a Sunday.
I didn’t like to go to mass
On Sunday mornings. I confess:
Confession wasn’t quite my scene
I just found piety a strain.
My mother nearly died of shame
Because I’d rather stay at home
And plant potatoes in the yard
On Sunday. She’d have never dared
Miss church. She said I didn’t care
About my soul, and I should fear
Damnation. But I’d done no wrong
Except for skipping evensong.
“You’ll go to hell! You’ll fry! You’ll burn!”
Oh, hands were wrung and hair was torn
And every evening she would pray
To save my soul before I die
She cried and begged and pleaded, “Can’t
You go to church, just once, in Lent?
For if you don’t, I fear the worst
My son: You’ll be forever cursed!
No longer human, you’ll become
A loup-garou! A monstrous form!
Half man, half wolf! And then you’ll groan
And wish you’d been a better son!
But I refused. When Easter dawned
My fate arrived. Well, I’d been warned!
I screamed and howled. My body changed
To something slavering and strange
The stories mother told were true:
I had become the loup-garou!
But one thing, I don’t mind so much:
Now mum can’t make me go to church!
Tom Juniper Poetry 