Once I saw a wolf tread a circle in his cage amid the stench of monkeys, the noise of musty jungle birds. We threw him bits of doughy bread but he didn't see us, padding on through some imagined forest, his nose on blood. We began to move on in boredom when he jumped against the bars, snarled, then howled in rage that long shrill howl that must remind us of another life. Children screamed and ran, their parents passing them in terror -- the summer day became hard and brittle. I stooped there and watched his anger until the keeper came with a Flash Gordon gun and shot him full of dope. He grew smaller and sputtered into sleep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES by ROBERT BURNS ON FINDING A FAN by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |