Thomas was handsome as his long slim rifle. Anti-poaching
sharpshooter, his charm was alarming.
When we spoke his dark eyes charged with light.
Slender like a bull gazelle,
graying hair like mine.
The Massai, brilliant blue robes
cascading to his sandals.
He hoisted a spear, the point glinting.
He said to call him Tarangire,
where we walked.
Thomas and I flirted
between animal tracks and droppings.
We stood chin to chin in an elephant’s print.
Worn hyena tracks, paws and claws visible.
The tracks endure. She is ageless female.
Like you are an ageless male?
I posed, saluted, in a cape buffalo track.
Bush pig pellets oblong like bullets.
Zebras’ kidney-shaped scattered in heaps.
I borrow you, three week tracking trip?
Return good as new. I blushed.
Broad smiles we wasted on each other.
We descend to a waterhole.
Four toe pads no claws large palm print.
Female lion, fresh!
The Massai readies his spear.
I rush behind the flow of his robes.
My voice chokes on gravel.“Thomas –let’s go back!”
I cannot meet his eyes.
“If woman finds fresh
female lion tracks out in the bush,
that lion is her tambiko,
You own her energy.”
We three moved on.
