There never is enough,
yelled mother antelope,
no rain means
we all starve,
the lions will
get meaner,
and soon run out of prey,
the fit among us still can roam
at high speed,
up to the river banks
where bony wildebeest do fall,
like boulders into raging waters,
jaws snapping,
welcome
to the home of the great Cayman Croc.
Carry a pile of fat and be a dromedary
with those unsightly humps
and you could make it,
snot flying from your nostrils
as you race past the hyenas
and the leopards in gnarled, lowslung trees
it IS a tough life, yes
and you...........
been kicked out of your home
to hit the dirt and who would know
or care,
you bit the dust,
expendable,
just like the slow and sickly ones,
shack up with her,
a sibling,
well
you have to weigh things girl,
the options,
some will float
while others sink into the plankton,
and what it means to you,
this life of promised rain,
parched opportunities
and breezy pheromones.
I say
you ask yourself just one,
it is the key and will apprise you,
not your heart of hearts of course
but yours,
that quick inquisitive of minds...
can you be
happy and content
to rest beneath the trees
in the hot midday sun
and watch the sweat run down
between yours and that bull's lean ass
and feel
such happiness
curse through
your veins and
all your arteries
that nothing else would be reality?
I rest my case and say
that we can wait for the monsoon
to bring the rain straight from the sky.
Herbert Nehrlich 2
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/our-monsoon/
