Orang*

In the corner

Bruised and brooding

The orange Orang

Stared at the throngs

Who longed to see, longed to laugh

At antics so natural

To the beast.

Feathered hair

Moving majestically

As the graceful Tang

Left the corner

Began an unselfconscious ballet

A pas-de-one

In circles

Reminiscent of dances of prayer.

Looking at the rail

Repulsed by jeers

Silently accusing with his eyes

Until a child

Squealed

With delight.

Suddenly the spirit of time took hold

Moving him to a lotus position

And Buddha

Smiled.