Giant tortoise kept penned at the Charles Darwin Research Station, Galápagos Islands
No mate for him exists. Last one of his subspecies,
he solemnly persists in turning into feces
eelgrass brown and dry, spine-sprinkled cactus leaves.
Straining to gulp a fly, he hastily retrieves
blunt head. Dead-ending male, lone emblem of despair,
he slumps on his knees, his tail antennaing the air.
For a long moment we bind sympathetic looks,
we holdouts of our kind,
like rhymed lines, printed books.