Member Poem

The flora and the fauna, like the finch and the iguana
    and the turtle, formed a tight community.
The island, though remote, had been invaded by our boat
    which sailed across unfathomed sheets of sea.

We men, a dozen cats, a pair of dogs, unnumbered rats,
    some pigs and goats and even deadly snakes
debarked and then ran riot and in no time made a diet
    of all that lived on rocks, in streams and lakes.

The tortoise searched in vain for any herbs in its terrain,
    for the goats and pigs kept munching, chomping, chewing.
The dogs had chased and caught the fierce iguanas just for sport.
    The snakes ate birds. The death toll was accruing.

We salts, the isle’s new tenants, paid a terrifying penance,
    for the rats were rife as ragwort, the plump pigs
fell victim to some ill, the goats noshed every plant, until
    the island was bereft of even figs.

The goats succumbed from a lack of greenery. The canines’ knack
    for murdering the felines was a wonder.
The dogs became our dinner, yet we kept on getting thinner—
    and doom appeared with peals of distant thunder.

We sailors soon were starving, so availed ourselves of carving
    each other up (we were our only fare).
But I ran off, lay low, and made a sturdy raft to row.
    Now, weltering on the waves, I say a prayer.

My prayer is for all isles with their large, relaxed reptiles
    and birds that strut on feet of bright sapphire.
But me? Who’ll pray for me, a sailor failing on a sea
    whose waves roil round me higher, ever higher ...