TO A LION-SKIN RUG

 for Palash

 

Does a lion think? Not of ending its days in a stately home
as a trophy at the top of the staircase, two-dimensional,
the bulk scavenged off to a light-brown, flat, floppy pancake
draped in an archway, a nothing in lion’s clothing;
no leonine tools of the trade, no Coeur de Lion pumping
the blood of a Richard to flex his claws on Saracen sands,
dead to the world, a mini-desert with a hairy dune:
the deathshead (twisted up to seem it’s still roaring

but looking like it suffers from a neck disorder called torticollis);
really just a pussycat, safe for an Aesopian mouse
to play in the jaws or tiptoe along the whiskers,
debate with dull orange eyes from a position of strength
and out-squeal the über-miaow, out-scuttle the loping stride
of the golden killer who can’t even manage a bowl
of Kit-e-Kat. Is it thinking now? Not of chicken liver chunkies
but dreaming of Sekhmet, her womanly hips and breasts, her cobra.

 

(Note: Sekhmet is the Egyptian goddess of war, woman with lion’s head, star of the Egyptian Room at the British Museum).

 


Niall McDevitt

 


This entry was posted on in homepage, Uncategorized and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to TO A LION-SKIN RUG

  1. burx.de says:

    I couldn’t resist commenting. Well written!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *