Kings

A dead wildebeest,
The Happy Meal of faraway shores
Lies gutted
Its final steps broken beneath it
Dragged to the dust
By the kings of the jungle.
It has twitched its last
While huge paws
Drew out its insides;
Jaws at its neck severed
Tissue, muscle and bone.
Its blood feeds the earth and
Slakes the lions' mouths,
Moistens the meat they tear from it.
Its eyes are wide open
Host to one
fat
fly.
Mouth curled in hereditary resignation:
'This is our fate.'
The lions tear at it
Opening up the sack-like skin
To reveal glistening pockets
Of wet flesh.
They pant
with the exertion of the chase,
Eyes glinting like knives
As they bury their heads inside
Their reward.
With butchers' blades
Three of them strip and devour all they can
Filling their strong, sleek bodies
While vultures circle overhead
Waiting their turn.
And then a crocodile pads
alone
into the pride.
Its footsteps are slow and heavy
As though tired with age
Dragging itself across the dirt
Slowly
Slowly
The scrape of its tail
Sounds like rushing water,
It makes a rough line in the ground
dividing the territory in two.
This is my half.
And this is
my other half.
No challenge in its eyes
No fear.
Only Hunger.

The trio of hunters
Raise a protest of growls
As the crocodile creeps towards them
As inevitable as death;
A tooth grazes a leathery tail.
It hisses
annoyed
Snaps
The lions bare their teeth
As they
back away,
Away from that body,
All muscle,
The scarred tail
like a whip.
The crocodile slides
Past the enormous cats
With its hideous fault line grin.
Reaching its destination
It nuzzles its snout
Into the cooling carcass' gut,
Trapping white tissue
In its jaws
and then it
rolls
To tear it free.
The lions snarl
But they are powerless.
This fight lost
Before it begins,
they wander away.

Dozens of crocs are crawling
Out of the murk.
They all look the same.
The impenetrable water
parts to free them;
devils crawling out of Hell.