Cave Lady UTI
I’ve not managed to find the time to research
how a cave lady might have treated a UTI.
I’m sure it’s herbs and plasters
or maybe the shamanic extraction
of a red demon
with a barbellate cock,
this ancient auntie and
her boggy bladder
squatting by a rock,
grimacing,
her pain
caused by a stick
wrapped with moss
to stopper monthly blood,
juiceless sex with
an impatient caveman,
or an entire season of rain,
animal skins perpetually damp.
After 5 minutes,
a painful dribble,
warmth creeping
up her back.
*
Tonight, on my drive home
I learned that 7 million birds
perish every year,
bright lights
attached to
communication towers
to warn human aviators
of their presence
disrupting bird flight,
sending them flying
into wires, buildings,
and each other.
Cargo ships passing
through the night
add 30 decibels of noise
to ocean water.
Human exposure
to this level of noise
would require protection -
ear plugs, says OSHA.
Humpbacks stop singing
when tankers pass,
orcas stop foraging,
cuttlefish change color.
On a Melbourne beach
piles of dead hatchlings
were found beneath
a mercury-vapor lamp,
baby sea turtles
understanding its light
as the bright,
watery horizon.
Even worse, I learn,
is the tragedy
of abandoned
beach fires.
*
The oven is suddenly
beeping and blinking,
indicating my eggs
are soft-boiled -
submerged any longer,
the yolk stiffens into chalk,
threatens to choke
the black river of my throat,
dam the fish body
of my tongue,
orange eggs
washed up,
desiccating
upon the stony shore.
*
Usually caused by e. coli,
-which she’d never know
since germ theory would
take 6000 more years-
the cave lady
turns septic and dies.
The impatient caveman
- the most important variable
in her death -
stays with her the longest,
in his grief leaves
the pyre unattended,
does not notice
the hatchlings
making their way
to what they biologically
believe to be
a bright future.