The Mating Dance of the Lone Rhino by Sue Blair
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The female rhino
Her third estrus season
Leaves her message, her scent
On the communal dung heap 
By the twisted branch
As always
She knows
Young males will read her message
And respond with their need
Old males will submerge 
In the watering hole
Her scent stinging their nostrils
Their ears spinning in circles
They roll in the mud
Playfully
Remembering the dance


"Say Bob, what do you think about Mary?
There's something about her, is there not?"

"Which one?"

"Mary Smith, of course."

"What do you mean 'of course'? There are eight Marys
at this office, you know."

"Yeah, but she's the only one that's 'hot'".

"What about Mary Heffer? She's single."

"Christ! Her ass is as big as an armchair, man!."

"More cushion for the pushin'", he winks.

They both laugh.


The female rhino knows
Several males will vie
For the honor of the season
Even the one selected 
Must prove himself worthy
Must maintain the ritual
In the grove
She sets off like a dainty battleship
He keeps pace behind
Prancing, knees high in the air
Occasionally touching his head
To her flank
Even the birds stop
To sense the caress
They may go on for hours
At speeds up to thirty miles per hour
Reveling in the heady dance


"Mary! Jim Johnson- Yech, what a pig! Out of the three 
billion men on the planet! Are you high?"

"Well..."

"Jill said that he stopped calling, right after he got what he
wanted".  Pause. "You know..."

"Jill also said that he took her to La Chambre. I can't imagine
_you'll_ be taking me there any time soon."

"That's for sure. My vibrator cost me ten bucks and works like
a charm, so why would I spend 75 bucks on you?"

They both laugh.


The female rhino has prepared herself
Returning to the twisted branch
Season's rendezvous
She asks the bird where the young males are
But realizes that the bird also wonders
It is beyond their ken
To see the glint of the weapon
Of the callous poacher
Decimating the herd
Eventually, she lumbers off
Trying not take it personally
Slowly chewing the bitter brush leaves
Contemplating where the worthy ones have gone