Saturday, December 21, 2013

When the Lions Came (Poem 263)

When the lions came, she was sitting 
at her desk, writing a letter, mundane, 

tiring. She placed her pen in its holder and yawned, squeezing 
her eyes shut in the process, then opening them very wide. And there they were: 

two females, prowling beyond the smokehouse, 
near the woodpile. Golden, raw, slightly tatty, 
imperious... Placing each paw 

with apparent indifference; their tails--thick 
as her arm--switched irritably at those ubiquitous, 
flies, glossy and vicious; their eyes, ancient, and

utterly devoid of mercy. She jumped at 
the sharp knock on her door, repressed 
annoyance when the handle rattled.  

When she returned to the window, they had gone, 
leaving her abashed, sensing that she had been 
observed, found lacking, and carelessly dismissed.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

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