during the decade
of my childhood
revolved around what my parents
for my sixth birthday, my mother booked an event,
in a private room
off of the main seating area
at the local McDonald’s.
parents could rent a room for a
celebration, and skip the lines
at the counter,
for double cheeseburgers,
or the Happy Meal.
we were sheltered under public park structures,
at the second stage of my celebration;
anticipating the rain
which was a frequent factor
of an early June birthday.
Bates Woods was a small woodland
park in the neighboring town of
New London. to the kids invited to the party,
it represented the City.
after all, there
was a Monkey House at Bates Woods.
there was nothing resembling a zoo
in Mystic, especially
if we discounted the mammals
in our public aquarium,
a picnic commenced. the park grills,
covered in an excess of soot,
were nonetheless utilized.
as the final hot dog,
and the final burger
were slapped onto
the wicker basket plastic plate holders,
the rain announced itself.
“hey kids, let’s head
to the Monkey House! you can leave
your plates here
at the table.”
my mother, trying to control
led the group of us to the Monkey House.
the other moms present had to
deal with the aftermath of a picnic
in the rain.
“it’s ok Linda, we can clean this up.
take the kids to see the monkeys!”
i could sense the subtext of her statement…..
“i would rather clean up this mess than
deal with the Monkey House.”
the structure was built with
cinder blocks, the cages were
anchored into an industrial
definition of confinement.
these mammals were imprisoned,
to maximize my