Ramapithecus and I

The young swamp he came to
Six million years ago,
His unfazed mother beside him
His father recently dead,

Is the wallmap’s mixed forest,
A dotted power line along its edge,
And the windows low, clouded hills,
Dolomite- and fossil-rich.

Making his home
Where his implements took him,
He waited for the rains to break.
Cutting my finger, its his blood I taste.