Poem: Probably Something Else

Probably Something Else
by jtdallas

"Banoctopus" © 2019 jtdallas

There would have been something else, maybe sooner, maybe later.

It wasn’t preordained that it would be us with our five fingers and toes and our down-turned nose.

It might have been, or will be something else that stands and walks and talks and makes decisions about this and that or the other thing.

Something more or less grand could, would, or will build towers to the sky, wage war, build aircraft that soar high above the earth below.

It could, still might eventually use a trunk, or claws, or beak, or tentacles, or flippers, or paws to swing a club, make fire, push buttons, or pull a trigger.

That would not demand five fingers and toes with a down-turned nose.

Almost anything with a well-equipped brain, with eyes or like eyes, could write a poem or a sonnet or a song to move others to love, to action, to war.

There may have been, should have been, will have been someone or something standing on the moon to look back at the earth through a visor, astounded, awed, inspired to take the next step, eager to go farther, determined to live long enough to see that moment when someone or something else would reach the outer worlds.

It could have been anything, given time and time and factors and conditions, that would search within or seek a greater good, a supreme being, a higher power, an array of deities to console, direct, permit a sanctified existence above all others—their own myth of transcendence.

Sensing that eternity begins above one’s head does not require five fingers and toes with a down-turned nose.

An odd ape, a lupine warrior, a benevolent matriarchal pachyderm are only three possible permutations of what is necessary to raise a crop, raise a city, raise a child.

It might not need to have been anything studious at all to clear the land, burn the land, consume the land and leave it fallow, ultimately lifeless, useless, pointless, toxic, or worse.

At least, it would not, does not, may not require five fingers and toes with a down-turned nose to commit the mistakes, the errors, the faux-pas, the follies, the crimes, the genocides while simultaneously loving, giving, repairing, healing, providing care and hope.

There might, one day, be or will have been another—not necessarily like us or even unlike us or maybe somewhat like us that digs up bones and ruins and objet d’arts, stuffing museum drawers, exhibits, and classrooms with speculations, hypotheses, and theorem about what was, is, and will be, what makes them them and what makes them able to do whatever it is that they do that does not and will not require five fingers and toes with a down-turned nose to do.

It was, is not providence or predetermination but circumstance or happenstance that wrought our form into the upright beast, standing tall, standing proud, standing arrogant among the other beasts we hunt, we kill, we feast upon without regard as to sustainability, usability, culpability.

It was, is neither providence nor predetermination nor circumstance nor happenstance that wrought art and music into being so that we feel elated, transformed, elevated above the other beasts we regard with such utter reverence, awe, joy, dread, and fear.

Another might have, might still desire, inspire, create beauty for the sake of it, argument for the thrill of it, and intellect for the need of it.

We are not divine, bearers of divinity, sacred, god-like or godly, or celestial but mortal beings with five fingers and toes with a down-turned nose, unique mainly and probably only in our morphology.

Papers, documents, books, and data would not, do not, will not define us as superior, worthier of any higher quality of existence than those who might have come or will come after.

If I, if you, if we allow them, abide their presence, tolerate their interventions into our world, their world, our world, we might eventually, undeservedly, unintentionally be revered as something more than what we are and what we will become, which, though striking, innovative, introspective, and, above all else, human, is no more than a creature, a beast, an organism, an animal with five fingers and five toes with a down-turned nose.