Hanging on the wall
A silky pelt
Once belonging
to a live animal.
It might have killed
before it was killed.
It might have had a family,
Small copies of itself
running around its home.
It's fur likely protected it.
Camouflaged it with it's habitat.
It would have stood on end,
sensing a predator.
It would have been silky smooth
when it was wet.
It would have fluffy,
like a five-star hotel's towel.
And it was still
soft to the touch.
But there was no life under the skin.
No movement in the threads of fur.
It now hung for display
As if to show pride
that someone
could kill something
with fur like this.