The lion springs, jaws first to feed her cubs.
Teeth sting your collar bones. Across the field
of cubicles, her voice, “ If you can’t
keep up, you are incompetent. Earn
your keep or else.” You hoist an “O.K.” shield.
Curious, she chases you to your open cell.
But, imagine, lay a thick line–white grout–
on the carpet between her quick paws and you.
Stand clear glass cubes along that line, soldier
to soldier. Trowel more grout. Surround each–
a tight brick base. Raise a wall she can’t see,
beyond breach, secure, from her prey-splotched gums.
Behind the glass, you can crouch, appear meek
And computer. She can only roar.
copyright Eileen Lewis-Lurin March-7-2010