He wore the tiger suit on the road as the cars passed
by in the November wind. Dandelion seeds did not know
what to do with him, so they, too, passed by.
The jaundiced moon was full of regret the night
he decided to put his life in the hands of a costume
and run about the street like a sagebrush.
Ennio Morricone could not score the scene;
the cops slowly making their way up the hill
to see the orange and black man lying still
on the pavement while all the stupid people
of the city cull their need for laughter
with the bluing glow-box in the corner.
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