Mother Run

Written by Jack Andrew Cribb

He made his first kill today,
running that red,
atavistic,
sinews itching, twitching,
his pads pacing cool water.

We’re thirsty for massacre,
claws on frontiers, a whole year,
dear to me.
The bits inside the bones
taste the best.

Once more, breaching,
leeching that red
to drive our kin.
His first kill today,

I am a proud mother.

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