Presto by Kristen Tracy

At the magic show I always wanted the tiger
to reappear. Did I have a pea-sized brain?
It was in the box.
And it was impossible to tell,
but I thought the tiger looked blue,
as blue as a little girl who has lost her purse
with money inside for milk. I wanted someone
to tell the tiger it could lead a completely different life,
if it stopped being so good at performing
the trick. Someone should have tossed that tiger
a ham bone. But who listens to me?
I had to kiss the tiger goodbye in 1982.
Its brain grew a tumor and in came a lion
with a caramel-brown face.
It had a new trick. It opened its mouth
and received a man’s head. He put it in sideways
and it came out wet—hair sometimes sticking
to the cat’s fat tongue. Bright bulbs
lit up the lion from behind. Its big fur
held the light as it balanced
all four paws on a milking stool.
It stayed steady, mouth open,
so a man would not die,
not in front of us.

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