Kings

I've got stripes like all of us,

walk on four legs, stalk and murder too.

My patch of jungle is jungle like any other.

It could be the pity stuck between my teeth,

or maybe wrapped around them,

to make dinner taste more like sympathy than blood.

I wonder if they also think it a chore.

I’ve never seen the others wander like I do in the middle of the night,

when even the darkness seems afraid of me.

Foolishly, they still hide.

Sometimes I let them.