Chicago Zoo, 2004
The man is alone but not extinct.
Not like a muse or a nude does he sit,
friendly planet in the concrete amphitheater.
Not by the rivers of Babylon is it November.
But here. You are here. The seal sleeps on a rock,
in the asset of her winter blubber.
Late afternoon, sky white, gates wide open.
Who can say if the man is in exile
from the tiny seats reservable everywhere?
In the neighborhood of the seal,
he bears resemblance. Though not having a neck
has never been the seal’s salvation,
perhaps it is a comfort in these last days.
Paula Closson Buck is the author of The Acquiescent Villa, published by Louisiana State University Press in 1998. Recent poems have appeared in Shenandoah, AGNI, The Southern Review, The Gettysburg Review, and Denver Quarterly. She teaches at Bucknell University and is editor of West Branch. (updated 10/2005)