Mr & Mrs Albatross
They can’t survive on plastic
Theirs is not to ask where they’ve been.
What they have seen? Were you faithful?
It’s just a matter of fact.
Microdots skimming Pacific waves.
Bathing in southernmost waters
on windy-sleety nights.
Waltzing with death under gathering cyclones
in the shadow of Antarctic Ice.
Oceans apart, a much hackneyed phrase,
means nothing to this dedicated pair.
There’s no boredom when survival’s the game.
No time for infidelity.
Meeting each year to dance their Tango.
Castanet beaks snap in mirrored choreography.
Preparation, preparation, starvation.
An egg nursed to ugly demanding fluff.
Daily sojourns. Kilometres in thousands.
Alternating teamwork pays off.
The fluff becomes a Heath-Robinson glider
making its final tumbling take-off
while their backs are turned.
With innate understanding they separate.
Not for them Peter Green’s soft-centred anthem.
Just Dame Vera’s aspiration to meet again.