There is no tiger in the hall,
hidden behind the bedroom door.
No snarling, no growling, no awful roar,
no claws that shred and maim.
There is only life.
An ache, a pain, strife,
a son,40, at home,
a daughter, divorced, two kids,
setting up her place she
should have had a decade ago,
an inevitable predisposition toward,
“You’re not getting any younger, you know!”

But no tiger.

So, wake up.
Get up out of bed .
Do something.

It beats the alternative,
paws down.