Prosaic Monday

‘So, Mrs. Rhino, do you see my problem? I’m trying to give you some constructive feedback here, but you don’t seem to be prepared to take it on board.’

Munch.

‘We’ve been in this enclosure together for quite a few years now and I have never seen you engage in any blue-sky thinking. You’ve never really pushed yourself out of your comfort zone. You are content to wander around and munch your way through the same old greenness as ever.’

Snort.

‘Surely there is scope for improvement here. Have you considered doing things a little bit differently? Starting your grazing in the left-hand corner, for example? Or sitting down when digesting your food?’

Grunt.

‘What is the most useful coaching question I could be asking you now? They say your client has all the answers, but in your case, Mrs. Rhino, I do sometimes wonder… . I had such high hopes for you, but I am afraid our ways must part now.’

She turned her button-like eyes on him and peered past her horn.

‘And where will you go, my dear?’

rhino

Yep, I’m back on my corporate trails once more and allowing myself to be inspired by its wooden language.

Caged Beauty

Soft pad-pad of measured pace,

she saunters up the plank – three, four –

meanders down the slope – five, six –

a pause, a whiff of one’s Siberian neighbour through the fence,

then around the corner on shaggy feet

her relentless pursuit of majesty recommences.

 

He rests on the hilltop, meanwhile,

so quiet, so strong,

his gaze languorous mid-distance,

surveying his shrunken kingdom.

 

 

 

 

At 3 precisely the doors lift.

Each enters their separate tomb,

devoid of life or decoration,

where an unhunted, unchosen lump of dead meat awaits.

No need to pounce or devour,

They nuzzle delicately with perfect table manners,

yet denied the pleasure of companionship,

except for the dozens of pairs of eyes

and flashbulb concert outside.

 

Pictures courtesy of my son.