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other poems
sports poems
china poems
Lions
When a male mounts a female in
heat she agrees more or less to lie
flat in flattened grass long enough
to feel what he has to offer—
a few good thrusts and then he
throws his head back and yells
at the sky in Serengeti baritone,
while she, as if half for joy and
half with a grudge, snarls and
rolls her eyes up at him, and he
pins her neck down with a species-
specific love bite which must mean
That was the one. He can guess
her answer: to attack and open a
new gash on his nose, or turn over
on her back like an overgrown
kitten, or both. No matter. For this
big huffer, danger is decent.