(puts on DJ voice)
This poem is another stinger from Ernest Hilbert's upcoming collection, All of You on the Good Earth. You ought to save me the trouble of reviewing it and just pre-order it from Amazon. I promise you won't be disappointed. What's that? You like reading reviews? Okay. Look for it soon! Right now, here's "Panthera" by E-Verse's exquisite Auden: Ernest Hilbert!
(takes off DJ voice and spins the poem already)
They come to view the creature in its cage.
It clutches its bale, stalks its small square,
Licks its sides beneath rust-blot clouds.
It tamps down a long dwindled pang of rage
In the warm murmur of mid-summer air.
It seethes in sleep before sighing, fleshy crowds.
Why does all this largess feel like a trap?
Fresh meat dangling streamers of clammy blood,
Freedom from the grueling search for prey,
Penned, but allowed to lounge all noon and nap,
Permitted, on rare occasion, to stud,
Growl half-heartedly at bars, but never stray,
Constrained by this contract, compelled to trade
Strength for slow half-life, and weaken in shade.