Tiger Hunt

The predator hunts his favorite prey

The predator is what I see in the mirror

The prey is in my steel binoculars

It’s striped white and orange

It approaches like a man before the dash

He can only crawl, but a wound won’t simply kill

It takes more than a platinum bullet to kill a bull moose

But this is in the Felidae family, not simply with a pure moose

Those teeth crush more than weaker prey

I may be on top, but he’s still tertiary, an apex predator

The Panthera tigris prepares for his last meal

My long-range weapon is sound and prepared for fire

Not to spread fire in the forest, but to spread red on the orange

Call me Bungalow Bill, because I can tell the kids what I’ve killed

It’s a continuing story, they say

And this isn’t half or one-quart

The story writes in my afterlife