Baby

Rain held forth in the jungle
Under the banana leaves,
Below the persistent ferns.
Bedlam seemed a more perfect answer to the
Endless dripping against the
Rubber plants.

Broken fronds lay in ruins
Across the path laid out
By the baby elephant that ran
Yelping after its mother.

Bogus mining carts wheeled along
Ugly logging roads in the soft
Golden light of morning like old-fashioned buggies
Guided by black-hooded nannies along Oz’s
Yellow-brick road.

Bands of furtive eco-poachers,
Using refurbished artisan-quality
Machine guns as they elbowed and
Pushed rhythmically against
Each other like boats against bumpers,
Raided the lone shelter under the quiet
Softly falling cover of the rain.