Poetry
Felix Thursday
Psycho-Zoology
My last dream was something
Jung could have constructed
in Phenomenology of the Self:
Someone has set the lions
loose from the zoo.
They march down the sidewalks,
sing Doo-Wop on street corners,
assemble in bars and whack
each other on the back
and roar with laughter.
A lion sets his bourbon down
on the side of the piano and plays Satie.
Some sit on cafe terraces, sipping espresso
and reading the newspapers.
They've become just like everyone else.
Except there is no one else.
The city has been emptied like an ashtray.
Some lions go gown supermarket aisles,
snatching beer and potato chips.
Others have become astronomers,
eyes pressed to the holes of rolled up
magazines, peering at the heavens,
wondering Which star is ours?
Me, I don't believe in astrology.
Or lose much sleep interpreting
the zoo-logic of dreams.
