“Take your time” the tiger at the back of my neck snarls with his hot acrid breath
And I wonder how much of it he’ll take

I make a fist at my side, silent, and take a deep breath, ignoring the stench
testing my own grip
Do I stand a chance against him
Do I . . .

“What’s the matter, little soft one?”
He rumbles, pacing, and I can’t look can’t look

I feel his heat
My fingers fold another peaceful paper flower
And drop it to the ground
To the heatwave pool at my feet

The flower floats on, but it does not go anywhere

The tiger continues to pace I feel him breezing by and the slouch of his slinking sinewy movement and his long orange hair fade to white shifting silky

They told me that if I stay still he’ll leave
That it’s the movement which sets off his killing bite

But they’ve led me astray before

I wonder if I should make the first move

Again, I test my grip
My muscles feel strong
My little fists feel hard

I want to turn around and face him
I want to jump on that tiger’s back
I want to turn around and see . . . perhaps he’s just an orange tabby

or

Perhaps he wants to let me jump astride and we can ride whipping through the golden grassy sun-dried shin-stinging plains running full out silky tiger sprint my fingers tangled in his thick ruff his ears laid back and flash of fangs glinting our eyes squinting against the wind tearing

I want to move

Standing so stiffly still and waiting for him to leave I feel fear creep and itch and I’m constantly scratching it’s like a buzz of mosquitos snacking on my fear-sweat

I’m not scared of being eaten, I’m eaten by waiting.

My knuckles clench, my nose twitches, my neck hairs prick, my muscles tense . . .