Wildcats

A version of this poem was published in JUICE Magazine, February 2010


They were wildcats!
hunters!

reaching for ceilings like trees
transmitting purrs or a satisfied
roar
across the morse code night lights
every step chased by sweet music
slinky irresistible
cosying up to mates
grooming themselves by the waterhole

They were wildcats!
hunters!

going at it for weekends on end & edge
clawing through the fabric of space
time and grass
and in hundreds of years to come they wouldn’t
just be older, but prey to evolution
losing their bite to cat food,
and developing a serious case of
families. in fact sometimes

their minds drift
to their watered down descendants
percolating in the home of their enemies
shrunken, overweight, purring, domesticated,
a different kind of trap—

Fuck that. back in the fields the hunters dance proud
thinking about the day they will be hunted
themselves, but

They were wildcats,
still hunters

and not going down in this fire without a party.

— Liyana Dizzy, 22


 

Leave a Reply