“In Spring a young man’s fancy”
The first line of a poem about love,
Implies end of libido’s dormancy
That with winter goes hand in glove.

Yet this may not be a true portrait
Of what’s really behind the scenes,
October tops chart for birth rate —
Winter must oft drop its jeans.

Same may be true of creatures —
Dead of winter I’ve observed
Rather peculiar courting features
‘Fore their genes get preserved.

I’ve seen crows in leafless trees,
Male approaches gingerly to wait,
He inches closer by degrees,
Then nuzzles anticipating mate.

They kiss like that for a short while,
Then some distant object they see,
Probably a quarter or half a mile,
Fly with flock, paired, he and she.

This goes on for days or weeks,
As they show up and repeat,
Same activity as she, he seeks,
To rub beaks in foreplay treat.

We leave crows in connubial bliss,
Turn to matings of the squirrel.
Males gather at estrus piss,
Excreted by hot rodent girl.

She walks along the ground,
No hopping, she’s a walker,
Aimlessly, it seems, to confound
Suitors who blindly stalk her.

They come from far and near,
Male squirrels, of single minds:
Plant seed in source of smear,
Follow trail wherever it winds.

And wind it does, in serpentine coils,
In curved lines around stumps,
Over logs, through bushes she toils,
Leading over holes and bumps.

And they string out in single file,
I’ve seen trains long as thirty feet,
Nose to tail, flexible and ductile,
They follow — addle-brained fleet.

Like an Anaconda snake they slither,
In underbrush, over tangled trash,
‘Til she, signaling “come hither,”
Does something a bit more brash. 

Up a tree she climbs, and slows,
Onto the overstory highway,
Out long limb her train flows,
Then reverses on the skyway.

Big snake tries to double back,
Too little limb for too many feet,
Half of train falls — Whack!
But none will admit defeat.

They scramble, get back in line,
Resume mad walk for dopey dame.
Juiced on winter hormone wine,
They must play the game!

And when she tires of the sport,
Per chance you see the issues,
With one male agrees to cavort,
But a frenzied orgy ensues.

My observations please be excused,
‘Cause at some point about now,
Comings and goings get confused,
And I can’t tell boar from sow.

As for squirrel mating habits,
I can tell you lasses and laddies,
They don’t mate like rabbits --
But none can name their daddies.

So animal courting convenes
‘Fore Spring thawing can begin,
A jump on passing genes —
So a new generation can win.

© 2007 R. Leland Waldrip