I’ve seen the documentary the person before me watches before, so I watch instead for anything I recognise as closer to home.
You know lions
lick lions lick
their paws, tongue
searching whiskers
and claws, lick
the steam of a wound,
that forgetful soul
of a soft body dead
in the shade,
tongue rolled out
licking the dirt.
Children keep playing
And a couple of them loudly
talk about being
on the trampoline
being birds
being higher than the last
jump being able to fly
and I’m trying not to use them
in another poem
like we like to use children
to justify life, careless
with the things they love
when one of them loudly says “bye”
and waves to the spot shrinking in the sky
I look for their friend, and maybe
they have figured it out
nobody seems concerned
and the only sound is calm
adult voices “don’t worry
they always come back
when they’re tired or hungry”