Crossing

It’s follow-the-leader,
the name of a game of thousands at a time.
In a wave, these wildebeests charge across
a beach of cropped savanna grasses toward
a perilous toil.

A froth of horns
atop this bestial wave flows out of
an acacia woodland and down toward a ramp
between boulders along an embankment of
the Mara River.

The leaders balk—
stopping there to search for courage to brave
swift currents, hungry crocodiles,
and bloated carcasses of kin killed during
prior crossings.

Assorted vehicles
line up to jockey for position, some blocking
the far-side ramps where the herd would climb
out of the water to escape the river's perils.
One wildebeest jumps.

Chaos then splashes
into the boulder-strewn river as wildebeests
attempt to follow one another across.
Currents push the bodies downstream so
their course bows.

Some vehicles move,
open a space where successful swimmers
can climb out of the river and up toward
fields of lush grasses, a feast all the way to
the calving grounds.

Another leader
chooses a different ramp down to the water’s
edge.  Lines merge.  Then a third track opens,
and three lines mingle.  Swimming heads and horns
become a mob.

More than once,
jumpers land on swimmers, water cushioning
the blows.  One looses her footing on a wet
ramp, dives in upside down.  She rights
herself unharmed.

Some turn away
opting to cross another day.  Splitting
the wave, they return to the cropped field.  A yearling
hesitates not knowing which direction
her mother went.

Last to cross,
this youngster was neither leader nor follower, but
a solo artist willing to risk injury or death
crossing the mad Mara River during the Great
Migration.