
Chimpanzee Enclosure
by Jennifer Compton
So he said — “Sorry.
We’ve already invented the space rocket
and the symphony orchestra.
So.” He said.
a glass cube
out of the weather
with ‘enrichment’
tyres on chains
a gantry of boughs
titbits stowed
in unreachable niches
the makings of tools
strewn about
on the cement
Two grown men are stripping twigs
with their meaty hands,
sullenly poking for a ‘tasty morsel’
with dumb intent.
They don’t appreciate
his comments.
They shrug a shoulder against
his alpha species nonsense.
a box of glass
the elements distant
the green aura
of growth
absent
the tedium
of scrutiny
the thud of
a stranger’s
indifference
It’s an uneasy business, staring
through a wall of glass
at our cousins. Impious and
lowering.
“So,” he said. He moved on
to stare at an animal
he would eat
knowingly.
a young woman
rushes me
a deep glance
through glass
she entreats with
an astute gesture
I am her chance
but I can’t
she stoops and sits
close
Jennifer Compton lives in Melbourne and is a poet and playwright who also writes prose. Whatever, however, you know.