Help! I need some hitters!
Help! Not just any hitters!
Help! I need some muscle—
Now!
Back when I was hatchin’, just a featherweight in May,
The jungle sang in chorus, kept the whole wide world at bay.
Then two-bit city slickers with their boots and crap cologne,
Came crashin’ through my bedroom like they somehow owned the zone.
So now these days are cooked, you see—the skyline’s lookin’ thin,
Some loudmouth iron monster came and chewed the treetops in.
I’m starin’ at a graveyard where my breakfast used to grow,
But lemme tell ya, pal, I’m starved! That racket’s gotta go!
I saw some jerks in khakis—yeah, the high-hat explorer type,
With gadgets flashin’ numbers; they were cookin’ up some hype.
They jabbered ‘bout “resources,” like it’s theirs to carve and shill—
But I’m the bird of record, see? I’m draftin’ up the bill.
Help me if you can, I’m seein’ red,
Got a ledger full of names inside my head,
Every twig they snap adds interest to the spread—
Won’t you please, please, please… collect and make ’em dead!
Now Python’s in the hedges, coilin’ tight and lickin’ lips,
Piranha’s hummin’ basso from below with hungry quips,
Jaguar’s wearin’ shadows like a tailor-made tuxedo,
We safeguard Jungle’s spirit, nice and quiet—incognito.
Why are they tearin’ down the only house we got?
Callin’ it “development”— well, I call it quite a plot!
Those wise guys think their kings, because they paved a road or two.
But the Jungle keeps receipts, and, yeah, she’s comin’ back for Stew.
Help me if you can, I’m seein’ red,
There’s a bounty on each helmeted head,
I want ‘em tucked in muddy riverbeds—
Won’t you please, please, please… make ‘em dead!
Now here’s the kicker, sweetheart, here’s the twist in horror tale—
The big surprise ain’t me squawkin’ mad or wishin’ trade ill will.
It’s you starin’ in the mirror when the green has all been bled,
And realizin’ much too late that you’re the sucker left for dead.
See, the air gets kinda stingy when the leaves ain’t on the trees,
And oceans start complainin’ when you plasticize the seas.
You shrugged off Logic’s warnings; busy shopping for a smile,
They’ve been robbing us of future, nice and slow, since you were a child.
Help! (The breeze is runnin’ out!)
Help! (What’s that cough about?)
Help! (Lights are flickering, curtain call!)
Look who’s cornered now—.
So take it from a toucan with a beak and righteous view:
Surprise ain’t just a feeling—it’s a bill that’s overdue.
“The Bill” is a poem by Timothy Bradbury © 2024. Narrated by Charles Hemingworth. “Jungle Bird Surprise” art by Timothy Bradbury.
You shrugged off Logic’s warnings; busy shopping for a smile,
They’ve been robbing us of future, nice and slow, since you were a child.
~ Timothy
