Harry the Panda

Morning. Light. Itch, scratch, ticks, bite
Yawn and stretch, shuffle off the night
Look around through sleepy eyes
Sniff the air for female, food and flies

Sniffs again, something different in the air
Something warm, something moving over there
Something outside, outside his safe, warm place
Time to stare and lower his face

Harry can hear him outside on the prowl
He stiffens his haunches and starts to growl
But his legs feel heavy, lifeless and crude
Time to nest in the corner and wait and brood

The footsteps come closer, but this is no man
No breakfast, no water, not even a yam
Bamboo, bamboo, bamboo, bamboo
He’s hungry and can’t even move for a poo

Harry closes his eyes and thinks of the forest
Of his old bed and the bamboo by the stream that tasted best
Of his female that liked to stand in the slime
Harry feels warm, shuts his eyes one last time