Accountant
We love to make lists,
To describe, name, number.
How can it have value,
If not on my list.
As logger I stand
Before the green forest,
The numbered trees
Are ones to cut.
The forest cut down
Is only to me
Bigger box to live in,
A shiny new car,
The species I slaughter
Are not for my count,
They appear on
Another mans list.
Naturalists say
We'll not care to,
Protect animals
We're not taught
To love.
But lists stand appalled
At life in the forest,
So long they peter
In our dismay,
Jaguar, Lemur
Capybara, Agouti
Blue Morpho Butterfly,
Tree Toed Sloth.
Tapirs, Ocelots
Even Kin Ka Jous,
Countless insects
Eagles and bats.
Scarlet Macaw,
Reptiles, amphibians,
Snakes and lizards
Too many to count.
Epiphytes, bromeliads
The Bougainvillaea
Ferns, moses, lichens,
Quite without number.
Two thirds of flowering
Plants are found
In rainforests
Going on lists adinfinitum
But do you really care.
Capitalist drivers
Economy must grow
Making it cheap
To maximise profit.
Palm oil a desert
Hard wood for looks
Till next years fashion
Changes the rolls.
Who can make lists
Play the accountant,
If the bottom line
Only shows human worth.
How many species are
Bought for ten dollars,
Balanced in columns
Of profit and loss.
What accountants
Hand or eye could
Frame the aeons
That go to create
The beauty
Of the ecology of life.
Tiny movement
On the wicker chair
Jumping spider
Catches the eye,
Instant spring
Strand to strand.
All its being
Compact perfection,
Taut intent
In the moment of life.
Awed to wonder
Begs the question,
How can anyone
Cut the rainforest
That I learn is,
Though never will see.
Copyright ©
Robert Cheshire
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