Eavesdropper

There is in that forest preserve a spot
Which joggers and surveyors have not found—
A hole the size and depth of a cot.
You could not tell it from solid ground.
Beneath its dandelion-covered lid,
My pit from other eyes is ever hid.

No arms but mine may lift its roof;
Cranes cannot pry its boards; no bomb
Exists, or horse’s hoof,
That has the force to shake my tomb.
Many a dawn have I lain in it,
Beneath the tread of Alexander,
Caesar, and Charlemagne—an infinite
Column on the march, while inches under
Them, secluded and silent as a mole,
I listened as far-flung empires turned
Their swords upon each other, till the toll
In blood could scarcely be discerned
(I peeked, a crack above the sod)
From the crimson sky of an angry God.

I have heard the scream of Genghis Khan
Rise above the roar of panzer tanks
As Napoleon’s troops were overrun
By Hunnish hordes right through their flanks.
For the loam in which my hole is dug
Is also shifting sand, and anywhere
That history’s tectonic forces tug
My little hollow will be there,
My hiding place, which cannot sag
Though earth itself may lurch or lag.

Cedar from Lebanon, fragrant wood,
Surrounds its sides, and makes the air
Within ever and exceeding good.
For food and drink, within my lair,
I have lembas bread, peanut butter,
And a quart of Aphrodite’s nectar.

Enclosed, invulnerable,
I can sense the sinuous lion passing
Overhead, and hear the rumble
Of wildebeests and zebras massing
Upon the sun-beaten Serengeti.
I have noted the clickety-clack
Of civilization in Cincinnati,
Right above a subway track;
Also the subtle thud of pygmy feet
Landing near some hapless animal.
Shoes and heels, ever in pursuit of meat.
The din has become subliminal.
The patter, the incessant shuffling…
The winds of change howling, as one,
With the dogs of war, ruffling
My feathers. I am undone!
Snug in that deer-inhabited preserve,
I am coming close to losing my nerve—

Leaping from my burrow in the ground,
The weedy, mulchy cover thrown aside,
I gasp for air, and, blinking, look around.
There, snoring (bless her), and still beside
Me, lies my wife of nineteen years,
Whose arms, enfolding mine, assuage my fears.