The night an engineer finds a tunnel
beneath the river by our town
I run my fingers down inside
the fur of a purring feline.
It perks its ears. I moor my legs
to a different crossings.
The tunnel has remained
a soporific kraken,
drooling down its chins,
because we’ve forgotten
to churn out the apocalypse,
because someday a subway
shall plan to invade
the river bed and awaken the burden
of nightmares unfed.
I pour the cat-food. Go back to sleep.
Nothing happens outside;
within, a beast hisses, I gnaw deep,
hide in a pit, darker than this one,
and my cat moans –
she knows how my id burnt down
the town of peace
when you found me before, tried to
inhabit my flesh and soul,
placed a doormat, tore out the fence
inhibiting my neighbourhood.
Why? You cried, the cat knows, and I growled,
“This is a tunnel of lone lore asleep.”
Photo Nick Victor