The gazelle can’t come in and settle down
Today, nor any other day for that matter.
He snorts, bounds over to where an impala
Scratches in the sand, considers
Her life as a colt, tries
To find a moment to match the phrase,
“An incident that changed me.”
And the zebras, in the back
Sniffing softly together seem
Like they are getting somewhere,
Their notebook pages are already half full,
But when I take a closer look I see
That one has merely written the words
“Cassia leaf” over and over and over.
The hyena wants to know if he can go to the bathroom.
I always say yes.
I almost always say yes.
This time I say yes,
And away he goes, trotting,
The bathroom pass in his jowls.
And now the wildebeest rises,
Announces he needs to go, too
And the zebras' sniffing turns into a nickering
And the gazelle kicks a stone at the ostrich,
Who was just settling down
But now looks at me, eyes wide
One leg raised, as she threatens
To sprint off again.
And the gazelle knocks into the wildebeest,
Who I was hoping to entice
Into writing a story about the train
That broke down in the desert the other day,
How the wildebeest had walked right up
To the passenger cars, had stared directly
Into the eyes of every passenger
Had somehow shamed them
Into putting down their cameras and cell phones
So they could only stare right back.
