 About this poem: I wrote this poem as part of my original Galapagos collection. When I changed the book to focus on endemic species (plants, animals, fish, insects, and birds found only in one place on Earth), I had to remove this poem, because happily, blue-footed boobies can be found along the Sea of Cortez in Mexico and on the west coast of South America as well as in the Galapagos Islands.
Here, I'm kind of poking fun of boobies, who attract forever partners with their bright blue feet, but also enjoy showing them off to whoever's passing by. Super blue feet come from eating nutritious fish and signal good health. Bobo means "fool" in Spanish. Maybe their slow-mo dance moves look silly to humans, but they sure work well for the birds!
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 ...there's SOMETHING weird perched somewhere up there in our family tree... Uncle Bobby says I hatched
from an egg with polka dots. He says my brother hatched from one with pink and purple spots. He says our mother sat on us for forty-seven weeks before we pecked our way to freedom with our pointy orange beaks. Uncle Bobby says the webs between our toes dissolved and then our stubby wings fell out before our spindly arms evolved. I think I don’t believe him. But (just between you and me)? There’s something strange perched somewhere up there in our family tree. About this poem: When my boys were about three and four, the oldest asked if he'd come from an egg. I said yes, and continued with what I thought was a brilliantly simple yet accurate response. My listeners glazed over, then dismissed it as nonsense. So the next time he asked, I said, yes, they'd hatched from eggs alright—Malcolm's had a purple shell and Griffin’s was green. That was much more satisfying for all parties. There is a time and a place for lying, and it is in the home when you have small children. Writing this poem, I thought about how everyone feels like their family is a little bit (or a lot bit) strange and crazy. In real life, Uncle Bobby is a family friend. His knees do not bend backwards. At least not that I'm aware of.  As you're dashing for the rainbow's end
to claim that pot o' gold, if the world holds up a STOP sign will you do as you are told? Well some folks would. And they're the ones whom no one'd ever scold. They'd stop and wait for a sign to GO cuz they're doin' as they're told. They'd never find the rainbow's end, just stand until they're old and watch their dreams evaporate, doin' as they're told. So when a STOP sign looms ahead, sure, do as you are told: stop. Look both ways. Then GO! Go find that pot o' gold. ABOUT THIS POEM: I was out running one morning and turned a corner to see this amazing rainbow. It ended right there in the field across the street, just beyond two signs telling me to STOP! I thought about how boring and primitive the world would be if everyone chasing a rainbow stopped when they were told to. Of course, it's always a good idea to stop at a stop sign, but it's important to never, ever forget to start going again! |
authorMs. Betsy's oldest surviving poem is one she wrote in the third grade. "Down in the Sewer" didn't make her popular, but it made a small group of loyal fans very cheerful. Some of the latest poems she's written, "Poems of Galapagos," appeared in Cricket Magazine's July/August 2020 issue. She hopes they'll reach a wider audience than her first poem did, and make more people cheerful...and possibly provoke some thoughts, as well. Archives
March 2021
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