The Mating Game

Around a smoky campfire

one evening very late,

a group of Trinil females

discussed the ideal mate.

What they did not know then

was they were on the brink,

it was a monumental moment

defining the missing link.
 

“He mustn’t be too hairy,”

one comely lady said.

“They make the nest a mess

especially when they shed.”

“And the light-skinned are the worst,”

emphasized another.

“Picking white hairs from my coat

is always such a bother.”

“Dark hides are best for hunting,”

a practical matron posed,

“but more important yet

is a large and proficient nose.”

“Yes, but more essential still 

 is the ability to see. 

A high forehead and big eyes, 

no more slow lowbrows for me.”

A younger maiden quipped,

“And what about his ears?”

“Big and protruding I suppose,

or how well could he hear?”

A solemn murmur of consent

rose ‘mong the gracile group.

“He’ll need a strong shrill voice

if he’s going to guide this troop.”

“Yes, with short, stocky legs

and big feet for stability,

long strong arms for climbing,

that’s a necessary ability.”

“But what about his temperament?”

“Is that a matter of the genes?

If so, I think he needs to be

tenacious, tough and mean.”

“At least with our enemies,”

a little lass decreed.

“But gentle and kind to us,”

with which they all agreed.

“And very good with babies,

a most conscientious male.”

“Perhaps he’d prepare our food,”

demurred a missus frail.

And whether shear coincidence,

or the fruit of their schemes,

into their maternal midst

sprang the creature of their dreams.

He had all these comely qualities,

a Trinil, to be sure.

But one essential trait made them

doubt that he was pure.

For when they made him laugh,

there was a most unusual hush,

for his bottom turned quite scarlet

and made those ladies blush.

But they solved that with a cloth

to cover his posterior

in confidence that their offspring

would certainly be superior!

© 1997 by Rebecca Stewart,