The Winking Tiger

Pacing, looking at my flesh, saying, "Meat!"--
mouth always open, as if stalking, crouching
in the tall itchy grass, pouncing
like a grasshopper onto its helpless prey.
He takes a drink of the smooth,
turquoise water, stretches
on the water's edge, then goes hindlegs
first. Last, taking a drink, he gets out
to pace again.
Winking, looking for the freedom trail,
his black lightning stripes proving
he runs fast, his sharp teeth and claws
with the memory of the old prey
in him, his eyes digging deep.