Zoo

Humanity is never perfect,
but it is all we’ve got.
Imperfect skin,
eyes, red, bloodshot.

Memories are never perfect,
so many times misremembered,
so many people forgotten
but they are all we’ve got.

The cages are never perfect,
windblown, and never swept,
so many counsels’ betrayed,
fewer secrets kept.

The keepers are never perfect,
so much death,
creatures long extinct.

The hammers, the smelting iron,
the pliers, and the welding masks,
always checked,
safety first, first and last.

Downhill

Careful now,
parents shout,
as teenagers leave the house,
and their fleeting traces in the snow,
their trays, shining in the cold winter sun.

At the top of the hill, they look down.
Gathered, no-one thinks is this a good idea?
They don’t think about the concussion,
the potential risk to bones, to limbs,
as they slide down the steep hill,
toboggans with no steering,
and as they reach something like
terminal velocity, at the bottom
they come sliding to a halt,
eager to kick the snow from their feet,
shake blood back into frozen hands,
determined, they look up at the hill,
and do it all again.

Crown Shyness

The tops of trees keep their distance,
although the branches sometimes touch.
And we too can keep our distance,
when things get to be a bit too much.

Coral never grows in unclean water,
the infrastructure needs millions of cell to grow,
but we only see the surface, 
not what goes on below.

All of the unnoticed work, 
the underappreciated people,
making things tick over,
keeping the beast alive,
they need to be noticed,
to be nurtured,
if things are to survive.

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Ben Macnair is an award-winning poet and playwright from Staffordshire in the United Kingdom. Follow him on Twitter @ benmacnair

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