Tom Jenks
an evening with the zebras
After dinner, we strolled the savannah.
What I took to be lions were just men in suits.
Later, playing whist at the watering hole,
I asked how the zebras came to get their stripes.
One said they were marks made by the smoke
from the fire that burned at the start of the world,
another that they were part of a code
for which the cipher has not been discovered.
After an hour, I slipped away,
leaving them there, gently disputing,
their front hooves resting, almost touching
on the green baize table I had brought as a gift.
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