by Simon Armitage
We hunted, swept the planet pole to pole
to capture a glimpse of that rare species.
Through a thermal lens we spotted a shoal,
picked up the trail of nuggety faeces,
then tagged the shiniest beast in the pride,
mounted a camera on its gleaming horn,
bolted a microphone into its hide.
A first: toddies in flight, asleep, in spawn . . .
After months in the field, the broken yolks
had gilded and glazed the presenter's boots;
the sponsor's lover wore a precious skull
for a brooch, out-glinting the best boy's tooth.
Rank bad form. But the creature itself shone,
perched on the clapper-board, the golden one.
Last updated May 12, 2019