Forgotten Lion

Oh, say I have not
completely forgotten
the lion?  For
there was a lion once,
seated in the supermarket
near the cereal.

I had been shopping
and turned the corner
to find it — yes, this is coming back
to me now —
there was a lion, not raging,
not sleeping, just sitting.
I thought at first
it was some promotion, then realized
only I could see it.   

I looked at the lion a long time 

without being able
to see it completely.
It seemed mostly eyes
and of course teeth.
But color of mane, of fur, of claws —
I could see none of these, or can remember
nothing.  

What is this lion to me 
now?  Reminder
of how we all hunted once
or perhaps of how we were hunted.
Speaker for the wild not found
in the supermarket. Disturbance
in the daily, torn fabric in the mask.

Memory of eyes, mostly.
Of teeth.  And present emotion?
Mostly still fear, but now less of the lion
than of forgetting the lion.