The Orangutang Falls

The Sumatran orangutan, gardening her spot

comfortable in the canopy and lush tree top,

nursing her young month-old,

fell fiery below, seventy-four holes

in her when the shooting stopped.

Four air gun pellets pierced her left eye,

two her right, leaving her darkly blind,

a howling Homer, Milton in orange pain,

bereaved, childless, now a wild-less refrain

scratching the earth for any hopeful frame..

Her collar broken, lacerations from sharp objects

on her upright arm and leg, one left finger a socket.

Her fiery camouflage that hid her in the canopy light

is singed in the clearing flame, her skin turned night

just another victim of human slight.

She will suckle her ghost child five years until mature

for the pain she has there is no real animal cure.

Use to solitude she is now truly truly alone,

even as the human rescuers reset her broken bones.

For in the war between good and bad man she is the lure.

Spared the ignominy of being a rich Clint Eastwood’s pet,

she will live out her life in sanctuary and uneasy stress

away from those who fear a Planet of Apes,

a refugee of the Air Gun War with her own tamed space,

PTSD, therapy, rehabilitation and very high tree state.