Lion Poem by Frank Meintjies

the languid lion lifts his mane
tattoo-like scars on forelimbs & face
the aftermath of many scraps, once to the edge
of life; an easy-like-sunday-morning gaze
on river pool
where buffalo family swallows gallons
& robins & kingfishers swirl

calf wanders unseen
in the direction
of the pulsing camouflage
coming oh so close to open nostrils & small cloud of flies
an urge to strike, to brush aside inertia, rises slowly
in the belly
of the stiff-limbed one
then, quickly
buffalo mum, eye now turned eagle, canters
out of water; with
guiding horns
she gathers & sweeps the toddler away

our languid giant
has no appetite
for bruising blood-letting bash with
hardened horns - horns remembered
all too well
from other sundays
in the highveld sun