Drifters, if they could be. <br />Sometimes, when they think <br />no one is watching, <br />they near the barbed wire. <br /> <br />Hooves and hooves and hooves. <br />A silent choir, a mass <br />of muscle-held cellmates. <br /> <br />Their heads are full of high grass <br />and long shadows. They dream <br />of lowland lions grifting gazelle. <br /> <br />Behold the moiré bolting <br />of the chain-gang jumpsuits <br />—dust and dust and dust— <br />safe in their target-striped caps!<br /><br />C.J. Sage<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/san-simeon-hill-zebras/
