Zoo Escape | Poem

I quit. Left the bud on the ground. Smoked it hard and quit. Not the smoking. The job. Boss saw. Don't think I exhaled. Definitely didn't speak. I was clear about it, though. Just up and split from the cages. Just streaked across the grounds. Not bothering with pants. Just stripped the uniform and failed. And the children. What a riot. I laughed. How could I not? All their nubby fingers. I was true north. All their compasses pointing my way. For once, they cared. For once, they cared to look. Even ran with me. Ran at me. Tackling me to the ground. That's why I quit. I'll go down in history. The streaker of '99. And that generation of kids will return with their kids. They'll answer their kids. Assure their kids no lion will escape. And no snake will slither 'round. And yet they'll warn of the one rare time when hell broke loose, and the deadliest animal of all broke free. Kids gasped. So innocent. So ignorant to still fear sharks or tigers or abominable snowmen. Kids, I'll tell them. What is it, Dad? What should I fear? What escaped? And I'll tell them. I'll say, "Kids, I escaped."