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Leftovers | by thethoughtbadger
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Up there

In the dressed branches,

A Leopardess wears the blood of a beast,

Like a floozy wears her rouge

In a classy, drunken state.

She tires.

Like a Queen after a Christmas feast,

Her chair creaks,

And her belt goes slack,

Sighing to muster the effort,

To fit in a night cap.

Hungry as the ragged beggar,

Neck as stiff as a hunch,

My burning eyes wait,

To gain a leg, a horn

Or whatever slips off the plate.


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Taken on August 25, 2018