Top of the Food Chain No More

How long will this flimsy barricade keep you out?

Snout snaggling and snuffling the bathroom door

as I huggle my own arms, rock gently on the floor.

Again and again you descend upon my dreams,

stumbling heavy across my nest you curdle my blood,

my peace, my sense of safe: your threat is numbing,

potent, mysterious in its will-you-won’t-you assault.

Invited invasion? I trespassed on your roam lines,

spent wakeful nights listening for your interest,

your scenting of me, your hearing my breath

amidst the smoky lungs, the panting of my burning pines.

In daylight we met often enough, and close enough,

for you to show me your tiny eyes, your rippling bulk,

the massive, rugged rug of your Humvee frame.

Now I should be home-free, each night sleeping well

in lands where my own kind are predators supreme:

but the stories of my drowsy hours subvert such pride –

you lurk inside,

you grow in my house, you prowl me to the edges,

the hides where I cling to the hope of the hunted:

that some night you will return to the deep forest,

signalling that I have survived, that I will always survive,

that I have learned my place, that I can be alive.