The Lion Emerges From His Bunker

The Lion emerges from his bunker
a smidge of overspray orange still wet on his drooping whiskers
“Squeak!” says the Lion
No. Ahem.
“Roar!” says the Lion
Chafing from his corset
The Lion emerges from his bunker

The Lion emerges from his bunker
His lion-heart pulsing steadily, regally
a great timpani
Audible to all
Parting the sea
Alone the fearsome pulse
dispels the masses, coincidentally
Right after the tear gas
and rubber bullets.
The Lion emerges from his bunker

The Lion emerges from his bunker
eyelids fluttering
against the sun
Architectonic mane glistening
structured somehow, engineered
from the four remaining
forty-foot strands,
modelling an orange ski jump
The Lion emerges from his bunker

The Lion emerges from his bunker
clawed puissant paw gripping
the Holy book, held
upside down and backwards.
Only once before had the paw
touched the Book
Only once before had the Book
been touched by such a paw
Yet never has the Book
touched the mighty Lion
complete in his regality, dignity
and self-sufficiency
needing no Word from
any other King
The Lion emerges from his bunker

The Lion emerges from his bunker
and before the tear-gassed church
he desecrates, raises the Holy book
upside down and backward
Like a shoe box he never had looked inside
The Lion emerges from his bunker