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Organ Grinder with Singing Whales


by Darryl Price


The tree fell into the river of dirt 
face first. The man was thinking of his 
waiting sandwich his wife had made for him 
last night. Too much green stuff. He wasn't 
going to eat that. He was going to 
get a big, juicy burger somewhere with his 
worker buddies. Yeah, he'd seen money for nothing, 
but it didn't matter. They'd paid him a
 
shit load of money to kill those big 
dumb, boring trees. Disappear them. Like they never 
existed. They're just great big stupid plants with 
no brains. No real feelings. Not like people 
have. Only hippies and mad scientists ever believed 
you can talk to them. Never heard a 
single one of them speak to me, he 
thought. Not a word of English. Unless you 

count a wind coming through a mouth of 
leaves as making words to say. Unless signing 
branches creaking and clacking meant something is trying 
to get his attention. Bull shit. Take what 
you can while you can. Get out of 
here. Deforestation is just a word dreamed up 
by some kooks to take the piss out 
of good, hard working men. Those trees don't 

feel a damned thing. Just because they send 
an amazing amount of electricity through their roots 
to other trees miles away doesn't mean they 
still aren't as useless as a bunch of 
singing whales. Come on. I know I'm right. 
What are you going to do, put them 
on a reservation? Let them be useful. As 
tables and chairs and ships and stuff. What's
 
that? You say they call each other by 
names, like elephants do? Who told you that? 
Give me three reasons. One. They are living 
things. Two. They provide shelter and shade. 3. They 
are older than most civilizations. They are like 
the earth's body hair. They are beautiful. Their 
fruit can heal a deep hunger. What are 
you? Some kind of deranged radical? Man rules 

the earth. Trees are here to serve his 
dominion. It's in the Bible. So take your 
Napoleon in Rags music somewhere else. Bobby we 
need your voice now more than ever. Dylan 
better watch his step. Tell him I said 
that. And remember you poets are all branded
names on a list. Okay. Well, I think 
I'm ready now to make a beautiful noise 

of my own for anybody who might want 
to hear it being made right here right 
now. It starts with trees, but it extends 
to anything that moves, people or music, whales 
to birds, trees or fields of wildflowers. They 
see only opportunity, to exploit for unfair advantage, 
to sow hate and money for the weak 
minded bullies of commerce and power. So what

if it's only a poem? It's my part 
in everything everywhere. I give it because it 
is mine to give. I sing my song 
to let you know you are not alone. 
I open it up as a conversation with 
you. Between us. The writing on the wall.
It's only just a poem if you've no 
imagination. I'm smiling. I think you can tell.



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