Abuse Of R’s

It’s my life. Part lion, part junked car.
You think you kiss me,
but it’s my trunk, my hood you kiss.

You think you make love to me,
but you’re making love
to my claws, my mane, my hunger.

God bless the savannas
and the junkyard
for without them we’d be stuck

with cities and villages
that could never stop growing.
Their flesh rampant,

their buildings and huts
troublesome to our sleep.
It’s my life, the roar and rust of it.