The Wild Buffalo Hullaballoo Show
drove through the asylum gates
while late morning tea was grimly served
by a worthy woman. She cursed,
wondering what the fuss was for
and would the hearse that drives to heaven
see her reimbursed.
Early rising dressing gowns
herded round windows.
Its not every day you see a line of buffalo
so sublime, in perfect time and unison,
though some inmates, not amused,
thought their facilities had been abused,
and stood apart, complaining to the matron.
“Why in Satan’s name are those animals allowed
to occupy this ground, defacing it with their shit,
muddying waters with such pissy ways?”
She felt it a pity. Portrayal
of their fellow men was so poor.
Could they not, on this day of all days,
show some understanding?