In a circus of harsh sound,
a tent of torture,
remains a lone elephant
shining gray in a colorful madhouse.
But the animal doesn’t cry,
just sits there,
with suppressed ambition,
subjected to ridicule
not only by people—
but also by the aching voices in his mind,
attentive with apprehensive ears
to the squawks of mockingbirds
and the howls of monkeys,
in this cesspool of litter and mud,
swirling with the sins of men who poach,
and the fears of quiet prey.
Defeated, the weary elephant waits
in a cage forged from tears.
He and his dreams have been chained,
rotting with popcorn kernels
and peanut shells.
The elephant needs out—
escape from his circus captors
into a world that has no bounds.
I wonder,
can an elephant fly?