Tuesday, November 3, 2009

she tugged on my shirt outside the Lions den

She tames lions,
they were once vicious
now their fangs are capped
docile, disciplined
they no longer recall
the wet jungles, the taste of 
fresh blood nor the thrill of the hunt

Like stuffed animals in
a museum, they plant, pivot
snarl, sniff; blank eyes
and tapered claws,

The crowds cheer, a great
mane desexed, a showpiece,
a lion, the king of the jungle
submissive, subdued,
an exhibition for the masses,
a lean, segmented cut of meat,
pages ripped out of
your biology books,

jumping hoops, encircled by fire,
a blank slate, memories chisled away,
a castrated roar like chiming
silver bells, harmless and
on a road that leads
from nowhere
to the circus,
to the zoo,
to retirement,
to the grave.

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