Tiger’s first best meal is to take the hot guts
of a slaughtered pig stolen from a nearby village
and slash them to shreds, stirring them into the blood
of the hog, to make himself a vicious, fine soup
such as the Eldest Tigers eat when past middle-age,
when they smoke and discuss the madness of the present,
sipping ridiculously foul and pungent liquors.
Monkey sits watching as his huge orange paws wrangle
the chopsticks, and she smiles, unfraid to grin as he lets out
from a single talon finger a claw so long it could slay a man,
yet used only to skewer a precise bit of meat and pop it
into his mouth; then she turns back to her own meal.
– Gord Sellar, April 2004
April 30, 2004