Cats curl up on warm sofas 

lazing indoors, unconcerned 

with pink balls of yarn 

or catnip-laced carpet poles. 

They sit in the window, 

watch the frolicking bluejays 

zip from tree to tree,

then saunter to a solitary corner 

for a catnap.

The snipers leap from the couch 

to the table to the countertop,

the rooftops of small buildings, 

then crouch down, and lock in the sights 

of their sharp gold-flecked eyes. 

Hidden in smooth black uniforms

they creep around their high vantage

points, stalking, waiting to pounce 

on tired dogs that don’t know 

it’s a war.

-Matt Beeson, © circa 2003