Oh, Grr-Grr-Grr

All day the bear paces her enclosure. 

A path has been worn around its perimeter. 

She starts from the entrance to her home,

tracing her own tracks from the day before,

from years before.

People stand and admire her, trying to imagine

her power, wondering what it would

be like to be the unfortunate "slow human"

who was brought down by her giant paw.

It was the same at every exhibit I visited;

the only islands of peace were contained within

the animals' enclosures while outside, a teeming mass 

of humans strolled from one display to the next.

But every animal wanted out, every animal was looking

toward some horizon, even if it was just an internal

longing expressed by generations of genetic instinct.

They wanted past the humans, to get back to their wildness,

to the places without the cages.