He said,”I’ve been working on another poem. I’m a crummy poet but I can’t help myself. There seem to be some things only a poem can say well. Tell me what you think of this one. If you think of a good title tell me. Here it is…
The Lion holds the Zebra by his throat
until the Zebra dies.
Surely this is not torture,
nor does torture from it derive.
You can see in the Zebra’s eyes
The role of a subjugate nation
wrestled to the ground, eaten alive,
as questionable powers contrive.
I ache as I watch; tortured with words.
Depictions of deeds.
Ideas we need become Lions.
I am torn, leaving torture to those who must,
those with a lust, balanced on the cusp
I’m told we need torture for us to survive,
to flourish, to thrive.
So torture them with water,
torture me with words.
Do what you must to
keep me free as the birds,
clinging to the backs of Lions.