From Bog to Bassoon
As seas increasingly grew dog-eat-dog,
feeling safer in its stream or bog.
the biggish croc-like-headed beast Tiktaalik,
thought the land enchantingly bucolic.
Then, slowly, from that fishapod of yore
evolved all breeds of beings sporting four
fine limbs (including us). A herd of goats, a flock
of geese, a cloud of bats — the world is chock-
full of the countless creatures that owe thanks
to the brave soul who clambered to the banks
of dried-up ponds. Oh, there were bugs galore
to hunt, and fresh expanses to explore.
Tiktaalik’s done. Most dinosaurs are done.
But here we are now strolling in the sun,
building cities, zipping to the moon,
playing the violin or the bassoon,
munching our lunch with chopsticks, fork, or spoon.
striving to keep the world from ending soon.
Martin Elster
If you have any thoughts about this
poem, Martin
Elster would like to hear them
