Tlingit Mosquito

All the tribal leaders gathered
in the shell of the abandoned
Trojan nuclear reactor
days before it was demolished.
As has always been the custom,
Physically the men were absent,
All their souls instead embedded
In the effigies of creatures
Hewn by hands of patient shamans.
 
All these beasts sat in a circle
In the concrete cooling tower.
Eldest of them was a sturgeon
Carved from stone and flipping pebbles
From his massive limestone basin.
Speaking first, he led the meeting.
"I have asked you all to gather
Here to talk about a problem.
Our diverse vocabularies
Are becoming obsolete, our
Dialects are disappearing.
Few of us still utilize the
Tongues of our esteemed forefathers.
We must rouse ourselves, take action
Lest our past become forgotten."

Next to speak was the majestic
Wooden elk, whose twisted antlers
Formed a thicket of forked branches.
"We must work towards preservation
Of our speech, we cannot let our
Throats constrict, our words get carried
Off by blowing winds of silence."
Roars of passionate agreement
Echoed through the concrete chamber.
Tarry caws from the pitch raven.
Rattles from the snake of wicker.
Clanking from the big bronze turtle.

Next to speak was Grandpa Grizzly,
With his pelt formed from a bearskin
Rug that had been sewn and stuffed with
Sawdust, patched with furry swatches.
"Though you speak the truth," he offered,
"I can't think of a solution
to this very pressing issue."
"There's no answer," someone whispered.
All of them turned toward the speaker:
Down there stood a butterfly with 
wings of circuit boards and diodes,
silver chips like gems that glittered.

"There is nothing we can do," the
insect said, "it's best that we just
let our languages now languish.
We should look towards our future
rather than the past, it's time to
March ahead. There is no use for
Karankawa or Takelma;
Beothuk or Chitimacha.
We must find a common language.
Rub out all these verbal relics.
Let these obsolete words perish."

"Ditto," said the plastic badger,
As she preened her polyester
Fur. "You're right," the beaded toad said,
Flicking his glass tongue discreetly.
With that, all the room erupted 
As the chiefs began to bicker.
Caught up in the heated uproar,
Bearskin bear grew too excited,
Flung his paw with great abandon,
Knocked the butterfly across the
Room. Its wings became unwired,
It unfurled its curled proboscis; 
Actually, it was a needle. 
Butterfly was a mosquito,
Vermin loathed the whole world over.
 
"Traitor," hissed the clay coyote
Baring fangs of glazed ceramic.
"You're a parasite, impostor
Here to infiltrate our meeting,
Suck the life from all our people."
The mosquito shook in fear as
All the chiefs commenced at once to
Rip apart his fragile circuits,
Smash his thorax, snap antennae.
When they finished, there was nothing
Left but bits of chips and wires.

"Well," said elk, "I hate to say it 
But he's right. The world has changed past 
Recognition. We're just stragglers.
No one cares about tradition.
There is nothing we can do to
Help resuscitate our culture."
Then the Elders' tongues were still, they
Stood around, it was apparent 
None of them knew what to say, had
Lost the words with which to say it.