Where are the animals?
I see a giant canvas hammock
Bed for the spectacled bear
I see beavers
On closed-circuit television,
Soaked and comfortable
Oblivious in their ersatz lodge.
I see mug shots of lion tamarinds
The legend says they never make a break for it
But they are nowhere chattering in the air
Above me.
All I see
Are people
Walking, pushing
Prides and packs
And plumage to attract.
All I see are people.
An Arabian woman in her dotage
Wandering the borders of her daughters
Veiled and robed
On this impossibly hot day.
And there are children
Standing under a sprinkler
Waiting for the wind to turn
And bring relief their way.
And there’s a beautiful black woman
Pushing her baby in a stroller
She has a tattoo
Little white raccoon tracks
Up one strong thigh.
So many couples and families
So many states and allegiances
Maryland Terrapins (CONT.)
Jersey Devils
The Bears.
And I always seem to be
Walking the wrong way
Pushing against their inexorable stream
Kneeling to write some gibberish
In a notebook.
“The bonobos will never go on strike.”
It doesn’t really matter that there
Are no animals.
This is what I came to see
My species
As far away from La Grande Jette
As they can be.
Ah look at the woeful sloth bear
Surrounded by paparazzi.
Author Bio:
Michael S. Walker is a writer living in Newark, Ohio. He is the author of two books: 7-22 and The Vampire Henry. He has also seen his stories and poems published in various magazines including PIF and Fiction Southeast.
I see a giant canvas hammock
Bed for the spectacled bear
I see beavers
On closed-circuit television,
Soaked and comfortable
Oblivious in their ersatz lodge.
I see mug shots of lion tamarinds
The legend says they never make a break for it
But they are nowhere chattering in the air
Above me.
All I see
Are people
Walking, pushing
Prides and packs
And plumage to attract.
All I see are people.
An Arabian woman in her dotage
Wandering the borders of her daughters
Veiled and robed
On this impossibly hot day.
And there are children
Standing under a sprinkler
Waiting for the wind to turn
And bring relief their way.
And there’s a beautiful black woman
Pushing her baby in a stroller
She has a tattoo
Little white raccoon tracks
Up one strong thigh.
So many couples and families
So many states and allegiances
Maryland Terrapins (CONT.)
Jersey Devils
The Bears.
And I always seem to be
Walking the wrong way
Pushing against their inexorable stream
Kneeling to write some gibberish
In a notebook.
“The bonobos will never go on strike.”
It doesn’t really matter that there
Are no animals.
This is what I came to see
My species
As far away from La Grande Jette
As they can be.
Ah look at the woeful sloth bear
Surrounded by paparazzi.
Author Bio:
Michael S. Walker is a writer living in Newark, Ohio. He is the author of two books: 7-22 and The Vampire Henry. He has also seen his stories and poems published in various magazines including PIF and Fiction Southeast.
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