This is for Liam and Martin.
So tell me, little trilobite,
Of those old Devonian days,
Five hundred million years ago,
When you walked beneath the waves.
When you were just a trilokid,
Did you play with other triloboys?
Did trilodads say, “Go outside,
Or stop that awful trilonoise.”?
Did trilokids have triloboards
For awesome trilomotion?
Did trilomoms say, “Be careful now,
When you go to cross the ocean.”?
Triloschool was easy since
You had much less to remember.
It was a half a billion years before
The first day of September
Trilomath? A piece of cake!
You only had to count to three.
And since it hadn’t started yet,
There was no trilohistory.
What kind of trilokid were you?
Were you rowdy? Were you docile?
Did you ever think, “When I grow up,
I want to be a fossil!”
“That’s cool!” You thought, “I’ll turn to stone
And hide out on the ocean floor.
“I’ll be the first to see a fish
And every kind of dinosaur.”
“I’ll watch the mammals nurse their young,
And raise them in their hairy way.
The sabertooth will come and go.
No doubt he’ll die of tooth decay.”
“And somewhere deep in Africa
Some apes will start to walking.
And once they figure out just how,
They’ll never stop their talking.”
“Some human will discover me,
Beneath my sheets of stone grown cold.
The wise will hear my silent song:
Man is young; the Earth is old.”
In an earlier epoch of the Anthropocene, three decades ago, I wrote “Trilosong” for two sets of brothers, representatives of the young of our species. They now care for their own young, so I hereby rededicate an updated “Trilosong” to my favorite members of our next human generation: my friend Liam, six years old, and my nephew Martin, seven.