Soft pads
Used to sinking through hot sand,
Unsheathing claws into prey.
Now running along hardwood floors,
And eating out of bowls.

In the old days,
Goddesses wore their guises
Lion headed,
Or tiger hearted,
And the mystery
of how a woman’s face
ended up on such an elegant body.
Perched in the sand,
giving riddles,
the greatest of which:
“Where are they now?”

Wrong again:
Claws unsheath into prey.
Now onto posts
covered in rough carpet.

Desert gods
Stalk through our cities
and nobody looks twice.


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