BENEATH

In mysterious tunnels

underneath the slabbed

concrete of Los Angeles

 

shaggy black and sleek

tan cougars roam

and slink single file

 

over boulders through

a moist semi-darkness,

 

carry their sleeping young

close and carefully

 

next to graceful  muscled

bodies.

 

These silent creatures

with penetrating eyes

 

like golden bonfires avoid humans

in the upstairs world bleached

by bright sunlight and gray

hazy smog.

 

Above, people scatter

and scurry like ants

on packed freeways,

 

trudge along straight

narrow sidewalks

like drudges and huddle

 

together as fearful refugees

on roaring commuter

trains where eyes glazed

 

by smartphone screens

blind them to see who is

here,

 

all the while unaware

of this silent animal

 

presence breathing

and glistening,

 

ever breathing,

ever listening,

 

beneath their hurried

fevered lives.