Predator


I’m shaking my lazy cud-chewing ways.
That’s right. I’ve decided to become a predator.

So far, I’ve been a peace-loving, four-bellied ruminator.
All the time thinking things over. No more.

Now I am a predator. I growl, roar, shed; I am a heat-
seeking missile, yes I am. If you have feathers, I have

a yen for you. For dinner, with rice and cucumbers.
I am not a monster, just an omnivore roaming the pampas.

How refreshing, what a relief, to pounce because
instinct dictates the tightening of haunches,

the sharpening of eyes and teeth. I do not wander
sleepy, belly full of grass and happy, into the evening light.

Do your eyes glow red at night? You might want to
watch out, my slack-jawed friends. Mine do.

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