A Man’s Tiger

A poem by Isabelle Sorrells

There is a man

Who owns a car.

A jeep, really.

The kind with the top you can remove.

The kind you can feel the wind in.

I have never seen this man,

But I have seen his car.

And when I see it,

I always know its his.

In this jeep of his,

when the sun is bright,

and the heat bears down,

sits a tiger.

A big,




Among other things.

But always the tiger.

He waves at me as I watch the jeep pass,

this friendly tiger

bringing a smile to my face.

And even though I don’t know this tiger’s man,

I feel like I do.

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