in the relative context of tortoises and iguanas, human males seem to be actually rather expressive

After the nature documentary we walk down Canyon Road, 

into the plaza of art galleries and high end clothing stores 

 

where the mock orange is fragrant in the summer night 

and the smooth adobe walls glow fleshlike in the dark. 

 

It is just our second date, and we sit down on a rock, 

holding hands, not looking at eachother, 

 

and if I were a bull penguin right now I would lean over 

and vomit softly into the mouth of my beloved 

 

and if I were a peacock I’d flex my gluteal muscles to 

erect and spread the quills of my cinemax tail. 

 

If she were a female walkingstick bug she might 

insert her hypodermic probiscus delicately into my neck 

 

and inject me with a rich hormonal sedative 

before attaching her egg sac to my thoracic undercarriage, 

 

and if I were a young chimpanzee I would break off a nearby treelimb 

and smash all the windows in the plaza jewelry stores. 

 

And if she was a Brazillian leopardfrog she would wrap her impressive 

tongue three times around my right thigh and 

 

pummel me lightly against the surface of our pond 

and I would know her feelings were sincere. 

 

Instead we sit awhile in silence, until 

she remarks that in the relative context of tortoises and iguanas, 

 

human males seem to be actually rather expressive. 

And I say that female crocodiles really don’t receive 

 

enough credit for their gentleness. 

Then she suggests that it is time for us to go 

 

to get some ice cream cones and eat them. 

 

[Tony Hoagland {1953-2018} 'Romantic Moment' from Guilty Knowledge, Guilty Pleasure: The Dirty Art of Poetry by William Logan]

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