Rooster Brewster, wattle, comb, and sickle,
Charms barnyard ladies unchaste and fickle.
When he struts his finest plume,
Hens and pullets simply swoon.
In all the coops in all the flocks,
Hens declare him ‘king of cocks.’
(In strictest confidence, of course.)
Euphrates Prince, standing stud,
Well-muscled male of bluest blood,
Sets mares’ and fillies’ ears a-flicker.
Watching them, I canst but snicker,
As paddock dirt to dust they churn,
To be the next to take their turn.
(Sire Euphrates doesn’t mind.)
Bovine Buford in calm repose,
‘Til estrus aroma pricks his nose.
No field to far, nor fence too tall
Bars Bully Buford from the call.
I sigh relief when barbed wire strung
Misses Buford’s goodies, grandly hung.
(Cow ladies however, quite blasé.)
So just how is it, I must ask,
We men are taken so to task,
When similar urges we display?
“Such animals, men!” the lasses say.
In forests, plains, and barnyards too,
This gendered dance is what they do.
(No excuses, just saying…)
© spwilcenski 2021
spwilcenwrites “Primal Urges – September 29, 2021
Ramblings 