Panthera Tigris

Let's talk about your tiger.
The one that started following you around,
years ago now,
until you wonder how in the hell you used to slog through the days without one.

The tiger rides in your car with you,
fucking with the automatic windows.
She winds her way through the aisles at Target,
close by your side.
Make way, shoppers!
She leaps into the basket, taking the whole thing up.

Two biddies are scowling at you.
"Isn't it against the rules???"
"That tiger should be in the rain forest.
Or wherever tigers live.
Where is the manager????"

Tiger could care less.
She has fangs and claws that would make anybody crap their pants.
And who knows?
Maybe she has raised little tigers til there were enough baby tigers.
Maybe she has plucked monkeys right out of trees.
Maybe whole villages have had to stay in at night, on her account.

Your tiger wanders the 'burb at 3 a.m.
"Poor stewardship," says your next door neighbor, in a written note.
"Selfish, keeping a wild animal like that," says the busybody across the street.
But maybe the tiger was sick of the mangroves.
Maybe it was lonely there.
Maybe she felt lacking, like a museum tiger, until she found you,
but waking upon receiving your smokin' hot kiss,
she made up her mind then and there.

She stays because she wants to.
She's a tiger.
Who's gonna tell her no,
when she's such a big pretty kitty, and loves you so?
________

for Artistic Impressions at Real Toads