A Tiger in Thirty-Six Sections
My last purchase:
a flat pack tiger in thirty-six sections.
A growl leapt loose when I opened the box,
with the smell of wet fur
and jungles.
I laid out the pieces, counted
screws and sinew;
I moved every bone and scrap of fur.
Without instructions
he would be lopsided, insecure.
The tiger waited for assembly.
I sensed the menace
of strewn claws,
the echo of the growl
I couldn't find.
A call to the helpline:
get a picture off the internet
and copy that.
I tried to pack away my tiger
but something else was missing.
I searched under the sofa;
on top of the bookcase.
The growl had escaped.
I laid out the pieces, counted
screws and sinew;
I moved every bone and scrap of fur.
Without instructions
he would be lopsided, insecure.
I laid out the pieces, counted
screws and sinew;
I moved every bone and scrap of fur.
Without instructions
he would be lopsided, insecure.