Raised by bears...

(for Shafer Hall, whom I fear I will never really know... now that I can't get to the Boston massacre)

Howard learned to like honey, and it wasn't his fault.
But when his teeth rotted sadly in his tiger mouth,
so that he could not longer tear or chew, and then

were pulled one by one, painfully, from his jaw,
left behind in an antelope thigh, a honey comb,
his paw, Howard knew it was time to leave home.

When he found the tiger-lair, none of the girls
would give him the time of day, lick his pelt or put
out. And the boy-tigers? Well, you can just imagine!

There he was-- toothless and he couldn't understand
half of what anyone said. Poor Howard. He was
a good tiger, a sweet tiger. Just a little in need.

But that's not what tigers like in a tiger. Need
His growl was all wrong. His toothless, if sweet,
grin gave the impression of an elderly disposition.

There was no hope for Howard. He would have gone
back to the bears, but for the animal need to mate.
So he waited in hopes of a lady-friend with compassion.

Or at least a crippling affliction to lower the bar.
No dice. If only he'd gone back to the bears, but instinct
is what it is, and so he died, virginal and hungry.

Remembering the taste of honey and the sweet
grunts of the bears. A pack of antelopes finished
his toothless self off. And that is the way

in the forest. Virgins and toothless tigers can't
get a break. Antelopes are unforgiving. Though
you can't begrudge an antelope. Tigers lust too.