Michael Shorb
Man Bites Tiger
News item: elderly Chinese merchant
found dead from overdose of ground
tiger testicles.
Lacking a harem, he began
frequenting prostitutes
on the dong dock
side of Hangchow.
Each night, after a daily
bread of Japanese electronics he opens
the numbered bag of dried
loin from #808 (or was it #208?) among
defunct registered Siberian tigers
rare as blue snow lions in a pure land
Buddhist dream watching his ragged yellow
gunner surge and stiffen to a power stalk
too long for depths of wife or mistress.
Even the pros of Joy Street learned to shun him
seeking the rapid gold of accountants
lacking such a swelling jungle baggage
pacing swinging solitary side-to-side.
At some point, no partner needed
he began to sniff the vanished cat's
powdered crotch on lines across a shell-
backed mirror like grey cocaine.
It was in this respect they found him, empty
mirror old wive's tail and old man, hard,
member waved at morning like a flag
and no tigers anywhere.
Copyright (c) Michael Shorb, 2005. All rights reserved.
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