He beats the space
with his fists, stomps.
Like this is the gorilla
cage. Like we are all
spectators. Watch me,
he says without words.
He blubbers through
his jowls sounds I cannot
measure or ascertain.
I am not sure what this
kid is doing, so I ask him
to sit back down.
Because that’s my job,
I drew this lot.
This is the time where
his jungle fury is put to bed
and he has to linger
in his animal swamp
until the bus pulls up.
More at https://jddehartpoetry.blogspot.com.
