We like them for their awkwardness,
the way they waddle on the ice,
like toddlers learning how to walk.
Tuxedoed toddlers – as absurd
to us as birds that do not fly.
The Mom goes out and hunts for food
while Dad stays home to incubate
an egg – and best of all, his nest
is nothing but a pile of rocks.
Why do we cheer ungainly things?
Is it our children that we see
in them? Or versions of ourselves?
