Taken at the Budapest Zoo
Two tigers circle in the night.
Neither eager to be first in fight.
Bellies low, they scrape the ground.
Each step pads without a sound.
One false step brings the pounce
of each fearsome muscled ounce.
They twist and writhe and snap,
each jaw a toothy, steely trap.
In the end one slinks away.
Both live on to later days.
A test upon the jungle floor
and each cat knows the final score.
Tags: cat, fight, nature, poem, poetry, tiger
By B Gourley in flash writing, nature, poem, Poetry, wildlife on March 10, 2013.