Burning the Menagerie

The keys have been in my hand for

Twenty-four years. I have fed them,

Found them, and plotted to condemn

The menagerie at full score.

First to go are the birds, of this

I am definitely sure, yes.

Always clucking in their excess,

Feathered ladies with their soft hiss.

The bears, with stares, do not contend

With care to win my wand’ring heart.

With fur and hurry their black art

Consists in luring the next friend.

And the lions, oh, they scare me.

Gods of the field, they dare me, too.

Divine manes, and oh, how they chew!

Yes, the lions must go, go free.

The snakes are my eternal fear;

I do not trust any beast with

Undulatory notions, myth,

Or storied potions to draw near.

And these beasts—each and every

Last one of them—must go, because

They have murdered my heart. Applause

Befall the flaming reverie!