Bush Meat
There is a bear
out there
on the ice
starving,
searching for food,
slowly dying.
He was once the king of the realm,
majestic, primal, beautiful
– and I am supposed to
listen to
and vote for
clowns.
There is a bear
in there
with her cubs
hungry,
spring has come early
slowly frying the forest.
She lived once surrounded by food,
plenty, harvest, variety
– and I am supposed to
stand by
and invest in
rapists.
There is a tiger,
over there,
in the jungle,
fleeing,
looking for life,
chased and hunted.
She was once queen of her matrix
superb, camouflaged, mysterious
– and I am supposed to
stand silent
as our numbers prodigiously increase.
There is a gorilla,
deep inside
the cathedral of leaves
surrounded by young
exhausted, running.
She was once safe matriarch of tribe
such power, such peace,
majestic, secretive, shy.
And now the murderers
and rapists
hunt her
– for bush meat.
There is a beetle
in there
gnawing on the
future
we have betrayed,
squandered,
for profit.
And I hear
the sound
of a billion tiny
mouths
eating
tomorrow.
By an anonymous Internet friend who gets it.
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