from the point of view of the Lion...hope you like it...<3, C.A.
From the Lion
Hm, yes, I have leftover
cheetah. Gnawing on the closer thigh.
Maz, the oldest, steals the right.
Sometimes, I let her.
I took cheetah by the vein
this afternoon. He was a slick, pale friend, an albino,
so rare,
but I was empty, and his paw was dragging,
so I saw it as a sign
to hit the neck.
He didn't go down easy.
I roll my eyes, checking. Hm, all of the ladies
are still mine. And the snake...
he's nothing to lose sleep about.
Hazel could take his head off with one
swipe. She probably will if he slides
too close to her Five.
Tomorrow, we're planning on antelope,
and the nap will be fine.
Man. Lately, a blue one stands
on his hind legs, holding a bad stick,
and he's been hunting me.
He thinks he is blending,
but I can smell him through the
leaves,
thirty trees back.
He's not one of us.
He's hairless, but for the head and chin.
I hear from Maz
that Stick Man wants to wear my teeth --
hang them from his chest --
for no reason at all, just because.
Hm, yes, today, in my free time,
I will peel him
apart like a gutted mango.
My tongue won't like him,
but I'll juice him slowly
when he moves the leaf
near the ladies and the kids and the rock.
I love one lady. Salta's eyes, gold
and black, hold sunrise and nighttime.
She has Four, and most days,
they're sucking anyone's tit.
Hm, soon, they will find mice.
And when they pass double hot years,
I'll tell them
to find another stretch, green or yellow,
to call home,
but if they don't listen,
I'll bury them, just because.
I hear something -- a wing.
Tomorrow, change of plans. Lunch will be birds.
Salta's hiding by the stones.
I stay away. Now is not the time.
She would fight me to the death,
even though they're mine.
And she might win. Hm,
I love her.
Now I see dirty Bubba sliding through the grass.
He wants to be king. He'll kill
the little ones. I prepare for a teeth
gnashing. If I win, he will be no more.
If he wins, I will become a dry tree,
or a green blade, or a stone,
so my father told me. In case the Stick Man wonders,
we kill, we eat, we sleep, we are reborn,
and then we go back
to the dust, just because.
Bubba turns away.
Maybe his ears hurt. The sky is talking.
Maybe he isn't in the mood.
I lick my paws clean, just because.
Hazel and Maz are yawning,
and Salta is growling, all pretty teeth.
Number Three kid looks like me.
I guess I have to go take care of this.
The snake is hugging him.
C.A. MacConnell
