A Day At The Zoo
 

by Suzanne Westhaver

 

A documentary on the Black Plague

Interrupted by the echoing ring I

Ignore.

Persistently, the caller redials

And I'm drawn from beneath

The sheet.

Sleep will come,

But not now.

In its own time,

The animals at the zoo will be

Free,

To roam

Down the sidewalks and alleys, beneath

The clotheslines that join

Brick-face to brick-face.

Walking to get the paper,

I cling to my father's hand,

And absorb the graffiti-filled walls,

Thinking how unhappy potted trees

Must be.

The suburban, split-level house,

shadowed by genuine Oak and Walnut trees, is

Closer to that cage,

Though unapparently so.

This September day,

Rain-sodden earth rises to my nostrils,

And clings to me like decay.

If a sunset could be recorded,

Would it simply

sink silently with an orange-streaked scream

or would it want to be

remembered differently?