The Hyrax

He sat in the cage,

perched on the rocks,

looking at me with his beedy eyes.

this non-rodent drove me to read up,

expand my horizons into taxonomy.

My first 'job',

cleaning at the petting zoo,

after school, weekends.

We had no wild tigers,

We had no lions,

We had no elephants.

the foxes, racoons , the badger,

were the fiercest in the collection.

Somehow the Hyrax did it for me.

I called him Harry.

unimaginative creation ,

of an early adolescent.

Harry liked to sit and look,

he liked boiled eggs,

and greens,

donated from the wholesale market.

Harry did not shy away,

from visitors.

Hyraxes are no mice,

related to the elephant,

showing their regal lineage,

as the commoners came to show homage,

and bring torment to the baby ducks.

Harry stood stoic, as the day moved, cooling himself in his shaded spot,

nothing that grew in the enclosure,

was safe from this omnivore.

his eyes were deep, knowing.

he looked on, taking in this garden,

in which we live.

perhaps a higher incarnation,

than us apes.

He escsped twice,

mind-controlling, surly,

but pitied us , and returned.

on the third time, as I cleaned the cage,

removing his little 'M&Ms',

he walked out,

not running, mesmerized I was,

by the perfection.

Again, he did not venture far.

He stood by the monkeys,

their spherical cage,

as if contemplating the inequality of his residance.

I approached softly, with intent,

but there was nothing to catch,

nothing of the spirit,

only dead flesh.

harry was gaizing blankly at the exhibit,

trying to see the world as a visitor,

he moved no more.

His space, his cage was eventually taken up by a phesant,

who loathed me,

and was far lesser in nobility.

d