By: T. A. Parker
We’re all just animals
Deep inside us all lurks a wolf
A salmon swimming upstream
Crows cawing at passers by
We’re loners and livers and critics
Bags of flesh, filled with organs, bones
All moving towards death
Each of us on our own paths
I remember the when I was young
That time at the carnival with my parents
I remember the terror I felt
When the rodeo clowns grabbed my mom
She volunteered to be wrangled as part of the show
Not everyone has the choice to be part of the show
Like that goldfish living in a bowl too small
Or that pervert who hangs around the toy store in the mall
A chronic masturbator with pedophilic habits
He never hurt anybody, but he watched
Recording the face of every child to his memory
Preparing for his solitary night of furious, frustrated masturbation
But it’s not his fault – it’s his illnesses
I remembered how I howled for my mother
To think of that day still stings
At least I got to ride the elephant
Elephants never forget
Worse, they mourn for their dead
We don’t understand why
It’s difficult for us to fathom the viscera of so many other organisms
I can’t understand the clowns anymore than an elephant
We’ve got an understanding though
Just like the toy store owner and the chronic masturbator
A 200 dollar monthly bribe keeps the owner from calling the cops
The cops, like a pack of starved lions
Would pounce on this child watcher as though he were the last gazelle
The only one to mourn the man
The toy store owner
The clowns eventually gave my mom back
But if we truly lose the last gazelle
Unlike the chronic masturbator
There would be no more