More than a porpoise

Poverty or bladder?
Who would skip the latter?

Temptation prevails,
Porpoises ail.

Cheap or friendly,
Which one is deadly?

With little time,
They make a dime.

Morals fly out the door.
Who wants to be poor?

Shake a few hands,
Make a few bucks,
Take the organs away
In a pickup truck.

The unused victim
Rots away,
Wash and repeat,
Day after day.

To see change,
We need to change.
It may sound strange.
Why should I rearrange?
I’m not deranged.

But we have control.
Of their little souls.

We need to step up
Before they sink down.

Bold, courageous, crazy,
We can’t be lazy.

It is our job to cut connections,
It is our job to puncture sails.

It is our job to enlighten.
Our job not to frighten.

We must work together,
Fight together,
Succeed together,
Die together.

Not just us.
Everyone.

Saving the Vaquita
Would be enormous.
After all,

It’s a lot more than just a porpoise.

The Great Puzzle

This box shone like none before,
glistening.

Colors danced around
in harmony.

Simply put, twas simply beautiful;
simple.

The kind of puzzle you complete
to relax.

Like a sandy stroll,
thoughtless yet peaceful.

Eagerly, I slid off the lid,
antsy.

I could not believe it.

The sight stunned me,
breathless.

Hundreds, no, thousands
of tiny pieces.

Smugly piled on top of each other,
“I’m impossible,” they seemed to jeer.

But I smirked.
I had finished bigger jigsaws before.

Dumping the contents on a table,
I began.

At first, it was not easy,
I didn’t know where to start.

But I got the hang of it,
piece by piece.

I laid the groundwork,
relieving my future self.

But then something happened
that changed everything.

I glanced over and saw a timer:
20 minutes left.

It smiled evilly,
mocking me.

My hands began to shake,
sweating.

I looked at all the pieces.
Too many.

I wanted to quit.

But I looked again at the box.
The finished puzzle was wonderful.

I got back to work,
frantically.

I put down every piece I could.
But it was not enough.

10 minutes.

I was so close,
yet so far.

I tried every strategy I could think of.
5 minutes.

But I had an idea.

I called over some friends
to conquer this thing together.

We used all of our hands, and did everything we could.

Ten seconds.

Even closer.

At last, we got every piece in.
But wait!

There was still a blank space in the puzzle.
5 seconds.

I looked under the table, and found it:
The last piece.

I quickly put it in the open space just as the timer ran out.

We did it.

We all celebrated and cheered,
and I looked at the puzzle.

It was a picture of a mother and baby Vaquita,
Safely swimming.

The puzzle is a metaphor for the Vaquita’s situation. The solution seems simple, yet there are endless tiny pieces that must be put together in order to save the species. There is also the added pressure of a biological timer, the decline of the population. But if we work together, we can solve this real-life jigsaw puzzle.

And the finished product will be beautiful.

Times have changed

I remember when I was a little boy
first learning about the Vaquita.
I was filled with wonder and determination…
Determination to keep them on this planet.
I donated my Christmas money;
I didn’t get souvenirs when the rest of my family did,
so I could donate even more.
I told everyone I knew,
and told them to do the same.
I even started a Vaquita club at my school to raise money.
I emailed the experts as often as I could,
and read every book and website with the word, “Vaquita.”
I don’t exactly remember what I thought was going to happen to the species,
but I know what I wanted to happen.
That was around the time Chris Johnson’s movie came out,
and I loved it.
But I was also scared…
Scared we might lose the Vaquita forever.
Thinking back upon these things,
I wasn’t doing very much.
But I loved doing it.
Then came V-log.
I still remember coming up with the name,
“A vlog is a video-blog, and Vaquita starts with V, so it could be a Vaquita-blog!”
I was 11 at the time, so I wasn’t the best with websites.
My first post was,
“Vaquita is Spanish for ‘little cow.'”
I became obsessed with learning and writing about the Vaquita,
so I started a book on it.
When I finished writing the book,
I kind of stopped for a little while.
But then my passion was rekindled by art.
I learned that I love to draw, especially Vaquitas.
I began illustrating my book.
And then, on one fateful March morning,
I received a comment.
It was from William Whittenbury.
He told me all about his club,
The Muskwa Club.
My life changed dramatically on that day.
Together, we have accomplished so much.
Videos, tables, my book’s publishing,
and National Save the Vaquita Day.
This event coincided with the Official Norm law,
and this summer was one of utter awesomeness for the Vaquita,
and me.
I am learning the ways of a businessman, conservationist, and artist.
Or some combination of the three…
Muskwa and I may be getting some pretty crazy ideas,
but hey, they are working.

And there has never been a more exciting time in the world of the Vaquita.

Why?

You might ask, “Why do I help the Vaquita?”

And my answer is, “Why wouldn’t I?”

I cannot force myself to think of a world without Vaquita.

They have helped shape much of my young life, from the early online research to now.

They have inspired me to do things I never thought were possible—or had the courage to do.

They have given me the confidence to stand up and make a difference in this dying world.

They have presented me with endless ideas for poems, books, and artwork.

They have saved me with the knowledge that I am saving them, and they still have a chance.

The Vaquita has given me so much, and now it is my turn to give back to them.

I know the day the Vaquita dies will make me want to do the same.

It is this fear of loss that has pushed me for years to make a change.

And you may ask, “Why save the Vaquita?”

And my answer will always be, “Why not?”

She was beautiful

Sun made its way

to her back,

Casting a morphing shadow

on the powdery sand.

Bubbles slipped out of her lungs,

dancing to the swirling surface.

She rose up

toward the beckoning sun.

Her blowhole inhaled

the salty air,

Refilling her lungs

like a balloon.

She noticed a ship

in the distance.

Binoculars and cameras faced her,

flashing.

She floated in glory,

admired by the many people.

She was beautiful.

Lifeless

The boat rocked with every rolling current

As I slowly fed my net into the swirling aqua sea.

I watched as the floats drifted off,

Knowing the next time I would touch them,

I would be hauling hundreds of shrimp onto this deck.

I leaned against the cabin window,

Arms crossed.

I thought of my beautiful family:

My wife and son.

This was for them.

A large mob of gulls swarmed around the boat:

There must have been something in the water.

Spitting tobacco overboard, I began to pull in the net.

Inch by inch,

Foot by foot.

It was too late.

She was already gone.

A dead Vaquita lay mangled in the mesh,

Lifeless and dripping in blood from the lacerations.

I sat down on the deck and began to cry.

Ghost

A vision, a ghost.

The Vaquita is hidden,

Never to be found.

Or is that silver fog that

Frequents the water’s surface

A lone Vaquita?

Surely it cannot be so.

For years ago we

Wiped the species from the Earth.

But now it is too late. Or is it?