at the zoo

the zoo is a sad
place, really.
the beauty of
the caged beast,
the lion, the zebra,
narrowed out
in stripes of
black and white
behind cold bars
and grazing on
a thin patch of
grassy dirt.
the gentle roar
of the tiger is
less of wonder,
and more of his
fatigue and slumber.
and the chatter
of monkeys is not
unlike the traffic
in the city, even
the giraffes,
so spotted orange
and leaning towards
the tall trees
almost bare of
leaves are melancholy
in their stature.
and down through
the tunnel
where the fat
and furry pandas
hide, shy, and
shadowed behind
the glass and long
and anxious prodding
lines. i'm no happier
when leaving the
zoo, less so,
perhaps.