Poem of the Day: “Ambrose Bierce’s Zoo Tour” by John Reinhart, Frequent Contributor

Ambrose Bierce’s Zoo Tour

John Reinhart

For any who wonder where he went

after disappearing into the revolution,

Bierce, in his dotage, educates zoogoers.

The author of The Devil’s Dictionary

Ambrose Bierce

entertains and informs, as any

zoo attraction ought.

“Penguins can't fly

because long ago

someone told them

they couldn't,” he remarks

while slouched against

the penguin pen,

“and they have since evolved

less and less

capability to obtain flight

by themselves.”

This, he continues, is

the modern condition, something

akin to obesity, or bulimia,

a disease of marketing.

Speaking of,

“The ostrich is the perfect

chorus girl:

short skirt,

small head,

long neck –

she prances about

without a care, then hides

sheepishly

when noticed.”

He smiles slyly. “The absence

of a good working pair of wings

is no defect,

for, as has been ingeniously

pointed out, the ostrich does not fly.”

“Economists,” and here

Mr. Bierce finds his footing

carefully while peering into

a dark cave, illuminated

by a fire burning inside,

where shadows dance acrobatically,

“are the only other creatures

whose heads

are as far removed

as giraffes’

from the reality

at their feet.” And

one of the figures in the cave,

almost unnoticed

among the shadows, moves

enough so that the zoogoers

hear the clink of chain and

see the laptop resplendent

with graphs, charts, and

forecasts, and a virtual dartboard.

The hyena was often held in reverence,

a smirk corners its prey as the tour

approaches the dusty habitat,

“from its habit of frequenting

at night the burial-places

of the dead.” Bierce shrugs off a question.

“But the medical student does that now.”

Inside for aquatic life,

Bierce points out the “eel

in the fundamental mud

upon which the superstructure

of organized society is reared:

an animal also known as the politician.”

Next tank. “Tenure once required

regular ink spillage,” Bierce comments

with clear bitterness.

Though the octopus now

owes no obligation to anyone,

he continues the habit:

far removed from academia,

he appreciates the dark

solitude where he can think

alone.”

“The rhinoceros has only disdain

for its visitors –

sullen and sarcastic, it dreams

of getting loose and trampling

the lady who laughed

at the size of his rump.

Such dreams, ladies

and gentlemen, are the dreams

of all imprisoned creatures.”

Nearby, explaining that the elephants

are unavailable due to a tardy

packydermatologist, Bierce adds

to his audience’s vocabulary.

“A proboscis is the rudimentary organ

of an elephant which serves him

in place of the knife-and-fork

that Evolution has as yet denied him.” To benefit

the youth in his crowd, “For purposes of humor

it is popularly called a trunk.”

Hoots distract many on the tour.

“Sound familiar? Yes, my family

gatherings are the same.” The monkey

cage fairly rollicks with desire

for a television and something worth

watching “These are arboreal animals

which make themselves at home

in genealogical trees,” Bierce reads

from his notes.

Mustache twitching irritably,

Bierce continues. “Close cousin

of the politician,” a smile,

“the parrot says

what he has been told

to say and repeats it

without thought.” And

it is clear to everyone

that Mr. Bierce is particularly

pleased with his devilishly

clever description.

Mr. Bierce appears

lost in thought, pulling at his

well-groomed mustache before

launching into an enthusiastic

if apocryphal retelling of creation.

Poet’s Notes:  This poem incorporates aspects from Bierce's definitions in The Devil's Dictionary. Mr. Bierce went to Mexico in 1913, during the Mexican Revolution, and until now was presumed dead. The theme of evolution creeps into this poem, so the evolution of the poem is a fitting parallel discussion. The poem began with the penguins: the idea that we come to believe what we are told. The poem then developed into the reflections of several animals, then zoo animals, then Ambrose Bierce appeared. All varieties of found poetry fascinate me, and the character of The Devil's Dictionary fit well with the poem's existent tenor.