“Clearly then, the city is not a concrete jungle, it is a human zoo.”
-Desmond Morris

Human Zoo

Wandering freely through the streets of Boston,
Eyes playing along the window displays at Downtown Crossing
Hungering after the pastries in the North End.
I’m happy, content. I’m swinging through the vines of
my concrete jungle.
Free.

And then some days, I’m trapped.
It isn’t a concrete jungle, but a human zoo.
Tourists come to stare at the city folk.
trapped here, looking out,
peering through the bars to the countryside beyond,
open and free.
Where you don’t need to jump out of the way of
an oncoming bus.
Where work means labor
and done means finished
and weekends mean weekends,
with time to wander across the pine-covered forest floor.
Where all is new and open and good.