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I found him on the table in my hotel room,

Inside one of those glossy brochures Provided, without any ulterior motive, To every new arrival at the Sarasota Comfort Inn. His underwater silhouette stared at me From among the sea of ads for local attractions: The Siesta Village; Historic Spanish Point; Dino’s Pizza. The caption read Visit Snooty, the oldest living manatee Born in captivity; There was a trademark symbol next to his name. Everything in the photograph was blue: The water, the seaweeds, and Snooty himself. Only his nostrils – I think they were nostrils – Shone with a bright, radiant whiteness. He was the biggest big thing I’ve ever seen: Huge eyes, huge mouth, huge body. He looked like a giant floating elephant – Minus the ears, the legs, and the trunk. But it was the look on his face, Aimed straight at me that almost floored me. It was the saddest, most pitiful thing – And there was something imperceptibly human-like in it, Like that of a guy whose wife ran off with a travelling squeegee man. You’ve got a river, a county, and a Boulevard named after you, But you are still a captive; your world – a wet six by nine cage. Snooty, dear Snooty, hang in there, buddy, I’m coming for you. I’ve seen it on the Simpsons; I know I can do this, I can see it: I’m running, carrying you out in my arms, all five tons of you; Jonah and his whale got nothing on us. And as I whisk you down Cortez Road, closer and closer To the Sarasota Bay, my heart pounds loud and clear, In unison with yours, and a bunch of old ladies in flowery dresses Cheer us on and chant: Oh – The- Humanatee! Oh-The-Humanatee!