Lioness Waits For Dinner
The best I could hope for was a lame or weak animal,
limping along, not able to catch up with their tribe.
My cubs are hungry, and they like fresh blood meat.
A young antelope or gazelle would be perfect!
As I glance through the African grasses, I consider different scenarios.
The old ones often fall behind, but their tummies are not tasty.
There is more gristle, sinew, and splintery bone than meat.
The last time I brought home an old one, we could barely gnaw through.
A herd of kudu came leaping through, graceful, confident.
Hunting a young healthy one would certainly spook the pack
They might invariably change their feeding path after a fear like that.
I lick my lips, waiting for young ones, but maybe they are unborn.
The hyenas came past my grasses next with noises that infuriate me;
“Supper?” my bravest cub asks me, hopefully. Soon, I say with yellow eyes.
I am proud that my hunting prowess has kept them alive so far,
My cubs and I sit down to wait, not as patient as we were at day’s beginning.
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