Protecting My Crops
by Joanne Lowery
Yes, I understand about conservation,
endangered species, the prerogative of the preserve.
Keep your pamphlets, spare me another lecture.
So I killed a giraffe—I’m sorry—
but it’s not as if I didn’t admire its grace
or regret that because of me, these
would be the last leaves of its sideways chewing.
But it had come too close to my garden
and its feet had trampled long-tended dreams,
what sustains me, though I see the skepticism
beneath your pith helmet, and I will fight you
tooth and claw to keep the spear
that felled hungry antelope whose horns
I sawed off to sell at fair market price.
Wince not, oh you virtuous ranger.
I could shock you with tusks and rhino parts
and the MGM lion’s very head.
The splayed foot of ibis placed just so
props my door open, even to you.
The table is set, the kitchen cooks my secrets.
I have what I have because of necessity
and ruthlessness. I stole from the wild
and killed from the heart. I staggered
beneath buckets of tears to water my seedlings.
That neck was long enough to reach all the way
down and nibble the little green men
who were once little green words.
The seed of selfishness is how all of us
first understand that we are one and the same.
Yes, I watched the giraffe test his camouflage
at the edge of my straight rows,
I respect how he blended in,
but when he overstepped my hedge,
I did not hesitate to end his forage.
Now I tower over his fallen body
squashing the season’s sprouts.
So much beauty to drag away
and hope the harm will straighten.
