a poem for the murderers.
Back Home for tea
The world is now so small we can whizz round in our Leah Jets in no time at all. The logging companies have opened up the jungle to chop down the tallest trees and the hunters pour in through the new roads.
They machine gun rhino and elephant from trucks and light planes.
They take the tusks to carve and the horn to grind down as a cure for impotence (just what we need).
They chop the forest, murder our cousins – chimps, gorillas and orangutans, for bush-meat and still harpoon whales.
The great American hunters buy trophies. With a bunch of natives in tow they track lion, elephant and rhino and shoot with high-calibre rifle from a safe distance. They pay big money to kill off the last of the great beasts.
The palaeontologists say that the first sign of humans appearing on the scene…
View original post 76 more words