Sunday morning at Bishop’s Park
It’s minutes to six outside the gate
Great naked apes, each standing
in a crowd, awaiting a silverback
to let them play, on the other side
of brass, where brave geese wait.

As they enter routines commence
Some will stretch, some will chat,
or will groom, or fumble with toys,
the rest will run freely to meet with
their fate, where brave geese wait.

A naked ape sees me, one most
ambitious, irate, great naked ape
sees me, I see a spike in his pace
Huffing and puffing, and thrusting
his way to where brave geese wait.

Upon his contact, with their eyes,
the great wall will formate, they’re
squawking and flapping, stabbing
the air, in unison with their beaks,
while the naked ape appears now

to be a little less great, as he cuts
to the grass, he ditches his path
where, as soon as he’s passed it,
brave geese defecate, it’s as if to
celebrate, one victory on the day.