Stephen Dobyns, “Getting Used to It”

He walks his arc from dark to dark
and now the time has come to consider
his maturity, what others might call
his old age, even his declining years.

It rests beside him on a park bench
and others might think it’s a gorilla suit
with wooden teeth and the fur falling out
in clumps. But of course he knows better.

This is wisdom in disguise, he thinks,
this is my accumulated credibility.
Nice gorilla suit, people call out as they
dash toward the park’s many pleasures.

Maturity comes in a billion shapes
and his looks like a great ape. It’s not
sexy, he thinks, it won’t keep me warm
at night. But being a good sport, he wrestles it

over his head and chest, wiggles his hips,
pulls up the feet. It’s an older model
and tight around the middle. Whatever
the case, it’s soon locked in place. I can

get used to this, he thinks, it’s only a rental:
a costume I’ve accepted on a bet,
a temporary aggravation. He wants
to explain this to the passerby, but

in their rush to seize the most from life,
all are dying to escape. As they sprint toward
the park’s promised pleasures, he notices
an indistinct shape slithering across the grass

behind each: a riffle of wind or bit of litter,
maybe a snake or frisky rat. It’s only
a shadow, they insist. But didn’t he read
as a little boy one summer long ago,

as the barber shop in a magazine called True
or Real Tales that carved into the stone gates
to the Unknown it said: Today’s Shadow
Is Tomorrow’s Gorilla Suit Getting Ready?