
When I entered
the room, all — predators
and prey — were assembled,
drinking.
At the periphery, not joining
in, pushing to bring
muzzle to a stilled
surface; but watchful —
waiting.
The ones that couldn’t,
wouldn’t be tamed
remained
outside, quenching
a wilder thirst.
I quietly stepped
back out, returned
to the safety of my cage.
* * *
A simple visual prompt on The Sunday Muse, one of two. What could possibly go wrong?