The City Lion

This lion shapes all shadow on his paws.

Through streets and markets his alien repose

Stirs city parks; on the highway glare

His two eyes yellow as traffic lights

That will not stop or go, since all his weight

Is shiftless, hanging in the tepid air.

His claws are poised for neither peace nor war.

His sides wake up when all his center sleeps.

How graceful, watery, his depths and heights!

A circus in himself, he parts his hair

From ear to ear, and when he laughs, his roar

Breaks glass, blows fuses, and condemns the poor.

He leaps when he's quiet; when he runs, he sleeps;

If you watch him closely he may disappear.

If you meet him, give him all our best regards,

Trick hats and valentines, handouts, cigars;

If he takes them, thank 'him, for you'll get them back

Years later perhaps. When you least expect

His leap to be sleeping, his sleep to run,

He'll turn on you lovingly, and do you in.