A shot fired.
An animal down.
Hushed running through the brush.
Sawing.
Ripping flesh.
Carted away to be sold.

One thousand one hundred and four.
Killed in one year.
Almost three every day.
At this rate
In six years
There will be none left in the wild.

A whole animal killed.
Just for it’s horn.
Something made of keratin.
The same as your fingernails and hair.

For ancient medicine.
For dagger holders.
Poached by poor villagers.
Desperate to feed their families.
Eagerly employed by powerful leaders.
Hidden in faraway lands to avoid consequence.
You can cut the tail off a snake, but it will still have it’s head.

A horn.
What makes a rhino a rhino.
How would you feel
If someone took away and sold
The thing makes you, you?