Don’t Call Me Cougar

I prefer puma, or mountain lion, or painter,
or even Kitty. Let me be

your panther. True to form, I love my solitary
nature, running trails undetected and alone.

I’m one of those rare ones whose eyes
never turned from blue to yellow.

Roaming the streets of a neighborhood
called Lowry Hill, I thought I’d find a mountain

to crouch upon. Who says I was on the prowl? Never
mind those bloody raccoon remains on the driveway.

It all happened so fast. Having just traipsed

through a bog in search of a real swamp,
I didn’t see the SUV barreling down the highway.

And now I’m dead.

And I’m having vivid dreams. Here’s one.
Before I made my security camera video

premiere, I took the Staten Island ferry
with Timothée Chalamet.

We compared wardrobes during a flirtation
that lasted two full round trips—a lifetime

for a mayfly.

Then I awoke to discover these enormous
lifeless paws. Please don’t call me cougar.