The ape of reason wakes
inside the primate house –
throws shit at the glass,
at the gawking apparitions
whose eyes align with his
but for a few seconds,
his brow-heavy face
grafted to theirs.

And he waits, waits
for he that drags the yellow
bucket, stuffed with limp greens,
sprung grain and stink meat –
the feast before a king,
the grace of drab charity,
there in his cell,
groomed free of lice
and small feeders.

And to endure this hunger,
his torsioned blades ripple
on his gray back as he knuckles
the slab in circles, as he yanks
himself up on frayed ropes
and bare split limbs
in the slow and purposeless
pace of waiting.

And in this waiting,
he calls dumb and barbarous
the macaque the next cell over,
calls loud the howlers,
calls lewd the bonobos,
calls brethren the chimpanzees,
who with sticks and rocks
violate a neighboring troop.

Image: Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash