Sam Avrett
Wake to Beavers
When you wake to beavers consider it luck.
That’s what our history might tell.
They’re a river of fortune from ponds and forests,
National blessings to sell.
The Cuyuga and Mohawk exported the beaver,
Wealth can be made from the rats.
We can cull them for meat and perfume and such,
Fur turned to blankets and hats.
We’ve corrupt politicians and unchecked worries.
Wake to the river to tame.
We can harvest our troubles the same as the beavers,
Treat them a resource the same.
If old Massasoit knew, he’d be woke to the river.
Metacom might have won his war.
They’re a river of thieves, and there’s no use for shooting,
The answer’s to trap and store.
We’re Americans still, just industrious beavers,
Making greatness besides.
We can harvest this resource and make revolution.
They steal our forests, trap their hides.
The Poet Writes: Sam Avrett lives in a rural county in upstate New York, with dogs, husband, and a startling amount of canned and preserved food stocked away for the winter.
SUBMIT to What Rough Beast via our SUBMITTABLE site.