"Circus Tiger" a Poem for Pieces by Banksy

The circus was always a sad place to be.
All the other children laughed and cheered

while I let out a plea
against the men in tails so revered.

The other children heard the tiger roar
but I heard the tiger cry.
How could the others ignore
that we were the real bad guy?

We chain up a lion,
we whip an elephant,
we hit a bear,
we cage a rhino,
we burn a leopard.
We turn animals into objects. They no longer have more of an identity than a bar code- the name that is labeled to them.

"And now the amazing Ramone..."
The tiger walks into the circle.
Her terrified eyes look at me and scream, "Alone."
The crowd doesn't realize that she is no immortal.

After her sad show
she is locked in a small cage
and her spirits are forever low.
Deep within me I enrage.

I come back at night
when the tent is silent
and all have turned out the light
but the tiger stays alert; defiant.

She looks straight at me
through the bars that keep her in.
A whimper escapes- she lets out a plea.
I nod and decide to begin.

Bars stretch
locks break
gates open
breaths exchange

The tiger is free at last
for I open her small cage
and her massive paw hits the grass.
I watch the moon bounce off her like silver sage.

She makes not a sound
and looks at me maybe twice
then disappears in a bound
in search for her own paradise.

Weeks come and go before I hear anything about her. I find her on the news-
a video of fur
claws slash out
a roar erupts
teeth are bared
blood is drawn
Ramone attacked a black bear that meant no harm.

The tiger is spoiled,
ruined for our own selfishness.
Her plans for happiness were foiled.

Even when it was offered, she would never find happiness.

One may hand her a flower
but she had only a club to offer.