Once I saw my dad as a great ape,
a hairy sullen silverback gorilla
who spoke in grunts behind the daily news;
not an unkind mammal, really,
but one preoccupied with his cages.
While I myself, a lithe pocket Tarzan,
groomed the furniture for pennies and dimes,
roamed the savage bedrooms, and kept a low
jungle profile down among the chairs.
Now when I see the eyes of apes in zoos
I see the human looking back, just as
once I saw the animal eyes above a paper.
And if I chance to think of my father,
I beat my chest with my hand, and I yell.
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