Tiger Mountain

Overpriced cubs sit in a basket. 
Matching black stripes frame their faces. 
Fifty golden eyes watch the shoppers
thumb through discounted sloths.

Overpriced pups sit above overpriced fawns.
You promised your baby a present.

You check a price tag. A tiger 
roars, or maybe a child that believes 
in himself so deeply he has become 
a big cat. You hear your baby cry. 
And the teenage cashiers flirt. 

And a child ask for an orangutan. 
And an old man complain about the heat. 

And a woman’s voice near your ear as she asks you
where to find a hairband. She’s hot, she says.

Fifty golden eyes stare at you now. She smiles. 
Twenty-eighteen is expensive. Her face turns
hostile. What do tigers eat? The woman yells,

“Did you hear me!” At the zoo, tigers eat 
ground meat. In the wild, tigers hunt calves. 
Her hand is on her open mouth.

You abandon the cubs to find your baby
in the shade with his father. 
And scan a crowd 
of bodies to find the woman 
you only saw in your periphery. 

A danger. You crouch, eyes wide, 
your baby behind your back, and snarl 
your teeth believing you 
can protect him.