Disposable
by Sabrina Dawkins
The jungle is lonely.
My enemy is green foliage
hiding predator beasts from my sight.
I thought they were like me.
How could they not be like me?
The jungle teaches there’s predator or prey.
But they aren’t naked,
making strange noises in the distance.
Sometimes they even wear suits, ties, slacks,
perfume to mask the animal scent.
But when mating season calls,
they throw off the suit, the tie, the slacks,
and hunt for a mate,
not to continue their genes
but to satisfy empty instinct.
And long after the object of instinct
has gone, instinct remains,
strong, endless.
The object can be replaced:
New season, new mate.