the tiger

A Poem by anais.vionet

what is freedom, when is freedom

The tiger languidly paces its enclosure
Its genetic memory of the hunt intact.
A movement catches its eye and its heart quickens.
The instinct to hunt, catch and eat
- to savor the delicious, warm meat and thick,
salty blood - stirs with intuition's reflex.
It freezes, licks its lips and crouches,
alert to possible prey.

Where are your rights, oh modern American?
With your family eating popcorn - behind glass.
Surely you are lessened by protection
and insulted by cool safety.
Climb the fence, ignore liberal warnings
and the alarmed cries of lesser men.
Stare down the now crouching cat
- ears back and cautiously approaching
in bent, alert stalk.
Claim your right to be free!!
Taste pure freedom.