Save the Whales

Look! There it is:
The gigantic, breaching forehead
of now—
an incomprehensible girth
unexpectedly ripping open
the choppy foam of time.

Then,
right on cue,
the lunging harpoons:
stabs of somebody-ness
barely sticking
to its mighty, arcing blubber.

Next, the cruel wait
as poison tips slowly ease
the mighty, sacred creature
into something
delirious, docile, dead.

What to do?
Paddle out there.
Intervene.

Whales have a name
for souls who wave madly
from their dinghy of flesh:

Greenpeace.