Welcome to the Grand Hotel

Jawbone shot loose, the dying leopard ran
With killer teeth hung in a slack grimace.
Cleaned now, that tawny pelt beds-her lank thighs.
A python’s tube of skin, cut to her shoes,
Taken so fast the leer of venomed head
Still threshed, although the blade had gutted him.

She knew that frightened animals grow tense
But death in these kitchens sealed soft flavors in
By pan and knife, like sterile surgery.
(It spoilt the texture if a lobster died
Of scalding, not of gradual heat exhaustion.)
Man’s exercise of privilege is taste.