Black-white stripes zigzag.
Rumps rub
and
muzzles nuzzle.
A zebra colt thrusts its nose
up under its mother’s belly
but she eases away
yawning, teeth bared
braying like a farmer’s donkey.
Funny creatures these
pot-bellied, round-ribboned
equines, tossing their heads
and playfully nudging each other,
their patterns merging and
twining and flowing together
like endless parallels, circles,
lines that converge, then break apart
as a signal sends them all running
quick-footed into the brush
into the wavy grass as tall as
their shiny black-and-white zigzagging stripes.


Slender necks bend and stretch, reaching for the trees.
Large, feminine lips snip tender leaves.
Twitching ears and mottled heads, manila and black,
dip gracefully, bodies swaying as they walk.
They reach the water, bend, and splay their legs,
rubber-limbed like Chinese acrobats,
to balance, towering over impala, nyala and
pudgy warthogs that move aside to let them drink.
Sometimes, to scratch their bellies, they sidle up to a hefty shrub
and rub their underparts in rhythmic pleasure,
managing not to lose the elegant grace
that sets them apart from other
denizens of the savannah.