[Martin Elster]

Why does that not surprise me?

Geronimo the Alpaca

I felt healthy and hardy.
TB? None, for sure!
Why the gun to my head?
Does that make you secure?

Sniffing hay-scented air,
I was glad when I saw
my owner each day;
but condemned by your law,

a scapegoat alpaca,
I paid a big price.
As for your cold heart,
try melting its ice.

(Appeared in The New Verse News.)


Geronimo

Defra has killed its way out of trouble
and now its trouble is more than double.
George, are you living in a bubble?

Do you know how to communicate?
Is it easier to terminate
a blissful life? (You couldn’t wait!)

“Retest! Retest!” we asked, or more
humane, let him be studied, the door
to a cure more open. Instead, you tore

Geronimo away from his mum.
Yet, unlike you, we are not numb.
Perhaps you’re the type who won’t succumb

to kindness. But when has Big Farming
ever shrunk from killing or harming?


I composed the following poems before poor Geronimo was murdered.

Geronimo

I am sheltered behind this tall fence.
What kind of irrational sense
**does it make to go kill
**a beast who’s not ill?
My caretaker’s dread is immense.

I am eight years of age, inky black,
an alpaca who lives with no lack
**of love and sweet hay,
**and I’d much rather stay
in this state. Do you catch my drift, Mac?

I think you’re as thick-skulled as cattle.
I think you shall not win this battle.
**So come. Try to end me.
**The world will defend me.
Your bovine beliefs will skedaddle!


To Geronimo the Alpaca

Will Defra choose to handle
the TB testing scandal
in a manner that is laudable?
We, your staunch supporters,
are visible and audible,
proving that all Earth’s borders
are linked. Geronimo,
well-loved by all the world,
you’re now on shirts and totes.
When the High Court judge hurled
that unjust judgment of murder
(what sentence could be absurder?)
it put a lump in our throats.
The government loves to flirt
with Death. And yet this shirt
displaying your sweet face
only serves to show
that Defra have no case.


Geronimo

“Believed” to be infected is not the same
as “proven” to be infected. Evidence
was insufficient. Even so, you came
to kill me. Others came to my defense—
petitions, protests, signs—which testifies
this thing’s far bigger than saving one furry pet.
Had I infected my mistress? No. Surprise?
I hummed as she fed me—I knew she was upset.

Innocent till proven guilty, yes?
So why not for our fellows, large and little.
Healthy until shown not to be—unless
our moral principles are eggshell-brittle.
Yes, this is bigger than killing an innocent critter
whose death would leave my kindly fan club bitter.

(I had bought a tote bag with the alpaca's picture on it, but I have it hidden away in a cabinet.)