Out of Africa
Sept 25 2023
Even Antarctica.
Every continent
inhabited by Man.
And not just the land.
Because every moment
thousands of freighters
are plowing through the oceans
trailing dense black smoke,
airplanes
with sleek aluminum skins
crossing paths above the clouds.
Like rats, ants, mosquitoes
we are an invasive species
who have made ourselves at home,
out of Africa
to colonize the planet
and fashion it after ourselves.
The apex predator
who believe ourselves exempt from nature,
yet imagine our presence here
perfectly natural.
So just what counts?
When does an invasive species
become native,
and isn't travel what made us, anyway?
The migrating animal
who doesn't so much adapt
as renovate,
altering the landscape
and engineering the planet
like a fickle millionaire
gutting his mansion to studs;
firing the architect
and hiring contractors,
time after time
revising the plans.
Now, plastic chokes the oceans,
great forests
go up in smoke.
And there's nowhere left to go
except underground
mountaintops
the bottom of the sea.
Or Mars.
Escape artists
doing what we've always done,
leaving no place untouched.
The rich, that is,
who have both the means
and outrageous ambition.
At least the ones who aren't too busy
seeking immortality
for their solipsistic selves.
Out of Africa
to the red planet,
the last resort;
an inhospitable place
of blasted rock
and unbreathable air,
named for the god of war.
(From The New Yorker, Oct 2 2023 edition.)
“They’re an invasive species that will destroy the environment if left unchecked.”
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