Along the road walks a white-haired old man
led by cane as he considers years long past,
back when he would run along this street
every day.  In front of him walks the mirror image
of his youth, one with the energy of a monkey
full of bananas.  White-hair sits to watch

the youth run along.  He glances at his watch,
and sees a friend across the street.  “Hey man!”
He shouts.  They wave, arms like monkeys.
Blocking their encounter, a truck drives past.
On it is  a battered side and a tattered image:
a coke bottle standing on an empty street.

The truck passes and the other side of the street
is visible.  The old man wonders and watches
the worn truck,  silently hoping his image
is not as torn.   Pulling himself up, the old man
decides to continue walking.  A half hour passes
and the reminder of White-hair's monkey

youth was gone.  A car roars by, “Local monkeys
escape from Zoo,” the radio yells at the street
The old man, still thinking of his primate past,
moves along, sparing a few glances at his watch.
He was late.  Reaching into his pocket, the old man
takes out a card with a caption and an image.

The faces of his grandchildren make up the image.
Hopefully,  he'll be able to show them monkeys
at the Zoo.  Air shoots down, all the old man
can see is netting. “Gotcha!” A yell from the street.
Nets fall like rain, and White-hair can only watch,
His eyes widen as hairless apes run past.

Fellow captured monkeys try to watch
the hairless apes running past, but the old man
just sits on the street, thinking only of the card's image.