SELF-PORTRAIT AS A WERE-JAGUAR.(Poem)

 
   All morning I walked through the rain 
   until I'd seen every animal in the Menagerie, 
   even the minibeasts in the microzoo. 
   However high I set the magnifier 
   I could not find excuses for you. 
   Like a sleepwalker, I glided down Raptor Way. 
   The Himalayan and king vultures 
   were old friends I could chat to 
   before I sat where I always sit 
   by the Fauverie, watching the jaguars mate. 
   The keeper smiled at me. It was Paris in Spring. 
   Where you met my mother. And raped her. 
 
   I passed the room where you first lived together 
   next door to the Jardin des Plantes. 
   Where you continued to rape her. 
   While I lay in my flesh cage 
   listening with half-formed ears 
   to her cries, and your cries. 
   The male is a mature black jaguar. 
   He mounts the female, roars when he's finished. 
   She snarls from the barb on his penis. 
   This is how I spend my mornings, Father, 
   then I return to the ...