Munching Mare as Mother

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

The zebra is not stripes.  She is an eye

Of liquid loveliness that looks at colt

And looks for lionesses in their sly

Approach with claws and teeth.  She whinnies, “Bolt!”

To steal him from their female fangs.  Inside

The black and white her pounding heart bangs hard

As she and he escape the prowling pride—

Or not, her breathing windpipe crushing-jarred

When she is, dragging hauled, to ground by grasp

Of canines stained with years of hunting deaths.

She finds herself in horror, cannot gasp

The veldt air, cannot even free held breaths.

  The pride gulps down her lungs and liquid eyes

    And leaves the rest for vultures and for flies.

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