The Animals Underneath

My morning coffee
Is taken at a window
From which i can see
The animals
That stand to
Inherit my house.

They are small, quick,
Tremulous things
With rapid pulses
And nervous eyes.

We,
Who live in
Rectangular fortresses,
Disdain these
Quickened creatures.
They dig up the bulbs
And burrow under
The foundation.

They are always busy.

They multiply furiously.

Even as they scurry,
Looking hunted,
They meekly munch
And politely trample
All that human hands
Have daintily set
In the black soil
Of suburbia.

And yet,
Each morning i say,
As i raise my cup:

"i salute you,
Survivors of civilization:
You, who will live on
After we who build
Have finished with our
Own destruction.

May you continue to rise
Toward shy dominion

Over what has been given,
Slowly,
Carefully,
Lovingly --

Especially to you."

--Mr. Gobley