There’s an animal park
A half-hour away
Where we went, for the first time,
With Henry today.
I was skeptical, but
It was worth what we paid,
For meandering paths
Lined with trees giving shade,
Led to animals you’d
Not expect to be there.
There were lions and tigers
And more than one bear.
We saw tortoises, emus
And gators and skinks,
Ponies, monkeys, giraffes
And chinchillas (no minks).
Varied tropical birds,
Porcupines, foxes, sheep,
Pumas, jaguars and vultures,
With many asleep.
Still, we strolled and enjoyed
Creatures far from each lair,
Likely wondering how
They had ended up there.
The Spanish had armadas;
the Americas, flotillas.
The Amazon has capybara;
the Andes has chinchillas.
Kentucky has its sassafras;
Madagascar has vanilla.
Napoleon lost at Waterloo;
Frazier, in Manila.
Will a person tell the Mexicans
how to pronounce tortilla?
There once was a lady named Matilda
With arms as long as a gorilla
When she hugged you tight
It took all your might
To breathe, your face buried in her chinchillas
Andean Mountain Cats are listed as, endangered
and are found in, Peru, Bolivia, Chile and Argentina
They inhabit arid to semi-arid areas, in the Andes Mountains
and their thick fur and long tail, helps them prevail on their trail
Their range is so inhospitable and remote, for humans to study
but humans hunt them for their fur, because of the greed of money
Other threats are loss of habitat, and the hunting of their main prey
of Mountain Viscachas and Chinchillas, has made their life so gray
There once was a lady named Matilda
With arms as long as a gorilla
When she hugged you tight
It took all your might
To breathe, your face buried in her chinchillas
"A chinchilla and a chimpanzee walked into a bar," my
grandson says, smugly, with that smile.
Where? I ask. The U.S.? England? The Neverlands?
He gives me a slow head shake ‘no’.
Kenya? The Isle of Man? Timbuktu?
South America? Guatemala? Italy?
I am being ridiculous, but as Grandma, it is my job.
I can tell that he is losing interest fast, so I stop my queries.
“It could not be anywhere, Grandma,” he tells me. “Chinchillas do not walk,
they scurry.”
I love having an eleven-year-old grandson.
There once was a lady named Matilda
With arms as long as a gorilla's
When she hugged you tight
It took all your might
To breathe, your face buried in her chinchillas
© Jack Ellison 2015
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