Backdrop

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BACKDROP


Somewhere the spirits crowd

the smudged glass of our exhibit, 

peering in as we mill about 

or make love in the corner, 

briefly nibbling on this 

or that before we circle

back. A few tap on the pane

to see if we’ll look. Most of us 

stare blankly, see nothing, 

read a book or waddle aimlessly

on about our business. 

 

But the zookeeper is troubled by

the few who quietly face

the back wall, staring at a panorama 

of snow-tipped mountains, sea,

a vast expanse of trees

in the distance. A few even bloody

their noses trying to get there. 


One or two want it so badly 

the technicians have to smuggle 

the bodies out before the next day's

viewing. In the official report

it's inked in as madness,

but there is—at least among

the inmates—a growing suspicion

that it's the only sane way out.


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