Where the Wild Things Go

The night Max wore his wolf suit

made him infamous, bred the child star

never sent to bed. Middle school,

Max started drinking. Not in my house,

his mother begged, No, no, no, wild thing.

Max reminded her who bought

this condo, who paid for her meds.

Freshman year, Max raved. Roared

his terrible roar, rolled, and almost

wound up in a warehouse dead.

Where, oh where, do the wild things

go? To rehab in high school.

To college on residual book sales.

Max kept his head down. Laughed

at drunken frat boys. Bro, let the wild

rumpus start. Max said, No thanks,

and volunteered for the Peace Corps

instead. Two years in Kenya, one

in Belarus, the president thought

Max might be of some use. Max

moved to Washington, appointed

at the State Department a cultural

attaché. One important day Max wore

his wolf-gray suit, then drove home

well past rush hour in a freak snow storm.

Max drove on the deserted beltway,

thought it his throne. Yes, Max belted,

this is where the wild things roam.