The Shadow Waters

At the Santa Barbara Zoo

Today it took an hour
just to get inside the gates.
A sunny day in April, crowded.
We herd along -- my wife and son,
me, passing the pink flamingoes,
the elephant chewing hay,
the lemurs. My son, just two,
is more interested in the wires
of the fences, or the fountain.
We inch along the walkway
to the gorilla exhibit, stopping
to let mothers and children by.
I am holding him, my arm tired.
A spot clears, and we reach
the railing. Twenty feet below
the black gorilla sits in the grass.
My son leans on the railing
and peers down. I look around
for other gorillas -- mates, his young--
but he is alone. My son turns back,
says, "I think he's looking at me."
I glance down. It's true. A look
like a stern father, eyes narrowed,
glaring right up at my son.
For a moment, I wonder
if the fence is tall enough.
I've seen this guy's fangs.
I look back for my wife,
still lost in the crowd, to see
if it's time to go home.
"Daddy," my son says.
"I think he's looking at me.
I think he's really looking at me."

posted by the shadow waters @ 10:04 PM