I’ve been hearing Save the Rainforest
since I was small enough to sleep
in the safety of my parent’s bed
or snuggled with stuffed animals—
pandas, giraffes, monkeys, frogs;
since I lived for lullabies and storytime;
since the world was as small as a crib
and as big as my imagination;
since a nightlight could douse fears
and a drop of Tylenol could erase pain;
since adults could assure me
tall was well and would always be well.

Now I hear that 20% of the Amazon is lost,
that the remainder is on fire,
that a tipping point may soon be passed—
all life in peril.

Now I have a beloved wife, toddler, dog—
great plans for our lives.
Now my parents are older, frailer.
Now, at thirty-four, I have traveled enough of life
to know that adults have always betrayed their children,
that absent drastic change I, too, will betray my child,
and that without a future for him
there can be no real joy or pleasure in the present.