The Resting Admiral


Its Autumn in the park, but in his heart
or reproductive instincts, it is Spring.
The sunshine stirs his sleepy phallic part;
he spends the afternoon in loitering
within his territory. He strikes his pose;
a male assails the bridge. Gerroff! he warns,
and struts towards the foe in flaming throes,
antennae bristling, ferocious, fierce as horns
except ones lost its tip. He tries to fly
the trusted route to see off rivals up
and circle, helical but its awry;
he tries again, unwavering. Hup-hup!
Then dizziness sets in and stays; he flails
and has to rest instead. He spreads his sails.

Felicity Teague

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Felicity Teague would be pleased to hear them