From black opal tail
to gold dust mantle
he is definitely male.
What hen could resist
as he pecks and picks
at microscopic morsels,
clucking in staccato
like Pavarotti on speed?
'Ladies. Ladies.
Over here please.
Quickly. Quickly.
You'll miss your turn
for tender shoots
and jellied roots,
succulent slaters
and full bodied worms.'
They amble over
scratch and nibble
as horny legs
sidestep the circle.
Fried-fritz comb erect,
Boradine stands back
surveys the array
of upturned tails.
With a squark and a beakful
of neck feathers
his opera buffa pays off.
The prima donna shakes herself.
Ignores him
as he opens velvet wings
and crows his own encore.