scruta

Tonight was toothy.

Chinese New Year

The year of the tiger

And the tiger had come out of the mountains

So that I could catch him.

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I walked up to him

Breaking the cardinal rule

That you never walk up to a tiger

Unless you are mad or wise:

You either don’t know what you’re doing,

And your brains are already being biled by the beast

Or you know the tiger like footing on a paved street,

Sure of yourself, but prepared for the unexpected.

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His mouth was upon me

But I saw that he wasn’t biting.

He just rested his teeth there,

As if he could strike at any second

But would be content to just play for now.

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Would I be his master?

Or would he destroy me?

I thought on this, as

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I walked home in the big, flakey snow

That turned to slush all about my feet

And stuck on my jacket like tiger’s teeth

Not biting, but resting, just resting there.