If Adam was the first to name the beasts,
their memories were lost at Eden’s gate.
The incognito herds browsed wide as feasts
undesignated hunters stalked for fate.
Then Noah had them two by two and seemed
to call them just to dinner, while the waves
embittered every sea-sick one that dreamed
of pastures stocked with what a critter craves.
So much for biblicality. The truth
is that they rarely name their kinds at all.
My otter conversations, though quite couth,
don’t go much, for names, beyond “y’all”.
However, funny noggin bumps and marks,
or this with thing’mabob or that with gear,
deserve their Latin so each sample harks
its mating call, should it have ears to hear.
And if it doesn’t, well, we need a name
for “earless”, or “unhearing”, or plain “deaf”,
a name to set the sureness of its fame
on this ark earth, when we look up the ref-
erence to drop politely in a pack
of bioblitzers stuck on bio-yack
my lontra fat-chewer with mammalian brain
would have found otterly inane.