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Resuming bulk from those which almost don't exist
Stoic in my unique role, careful timber tiger crafter
Tiny depicted tigers roll on wheels, pulled by strings
Lasting remnants of an animal disappearing faster

Eager tourists, affluent enough to pay admission 
Flock to witness the final marsupial's mystique 
Many striped predecessors, hunted to extinction
Troops are scouring habitat, a specimen they seek
Partnerless canid cage pacing future seems bleak
History's camouflage hails a shameful critique 

Rucksack bumpy with fifty wooden replicas
A long week's worth of care, painted precision 
I trek a mile of of dense hill bush hike arduous 
To give Last Tiger shop their hot cake provisions

Tabled display draws awe stuck children, ironic 
Their admiration for wooden scuptures intense
Crazed praise for rare cat, manic sprung from it
Taking my pay, ready to repeat, my heart laments 
For the futlie pursuit of proud viewers' affluence
Satisfaction part macabre holds their suspense

Hessian emptiness nestled beneath my armpit
Familiar meander to log stumped hut, return to task
Seeing striped stirring, captures, breath insufficient 
Thylacine's elusive emergence, most likely the last 

He growls, scared departure means an outcome grim 
Finding my voice, I tell him I need him to maintain 
My craft,  - his image inspires it, - I'll never exploit him
After fragile minutes, his wavered trust, incredibly gained
Following yellow bush thigh high survivor anointed
With thylacine compassion, - he is home,- reunited



        8th August 2020

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