It’s mating season in the Galápagos.
The booby has no real predators
in the Ecuadorean archipelago.
As a result, the blue-footed bird
lives a proud and public life
but needs, like hell, a wife
with whom to promenade
the volcanic sands. He dances
the more wildly to avoid rejection:
if his gay romp passes inspection
she goes with him. His feet may
be blue, and his strut odd,
but to her he is a small, winged god—
the only object of her affection.
Here is the male booby’s song:
“Woman, I know you understand
the little child inside the man.
Please remember my life is in your hands,
and, woman, hold me close to your heart.
However distant, don’t keep us apart;
after all, it is written in the stars.”
• • •