Under Skin

Lucent light

on a flaxen pelt

on a moonlit night

in the African veldt.

Gold eyes bright,

sinuous, svelte,

teeth star-white

and fur like felt.

Its rumbling call

is rival to none,

but silencing all

is the roar of a gun.

For the lion to fall,

it takes only one,

and the thrall

of the king of the jungle is done.

The knife unseams

the carcass, ripping;

sanguine streams

dripping and dripping.

Deaf to the screams

of winged things, clipping;

the wealth of dreams

bought by snipping.

Loggerhead eggs,

pangolin scales,

trophy heads,

oil of whales,

exotic pets,

snow leopard tails,

goose feather beds,

and elephant nails.

Kill and maim,

whip and welt,

catch and tame,

mutilate, melt.

Feel no shame

when pain is dealt,

because nothing says fame

like a snakeskin belt.