By the smoking remains of the plantation

By the smoking remains of the plantation
we shelter on the dirt-strewn floor of the Rush room.

Blow pipes find a vantage-point through parted grass;
they will each grab an arm, they will slice off your hair.

The peace of our minds is disturbed
by strange echoes of miscegenation.
Under sentence of death we track the stars.

"What", we asked Boo from our cage,
"do they intend to do with us?"
Boo pointed grimly to Clothcat,
tossed to lie torn and unstitched
with the mummified woodlice.

"Students of heart sacrifice", he stated philosophically,
"believe it to have been a comparatively painless death".

We had talked quite pleasantly I thought with the chief of the tribe.
"If you point at a rainbow", he told us, "your arm will fall off".

"I've always wondered", I asked Boo, "about the woodlice".
"They're just distractions", he replied, "discarded bribes".
And as we waited for the sun to dawn I came to know
all about the courtship of spiders.

The courtship of spiders

The male spider has to offer the female spider a gift.
If they find nothing else they even offer a woodchip
cunningly wrapped in silk.

Some inadequate spiders just offer a bundle of web.
The female mostly notices this, and fiercely rejects it.
Sometimes the male persists.

Spiders often demonstrate extreme sexual dimorphism.
The male can be tiny. Seeing them come back again and again
they seem wonderfully brave.

If the female captures the male I don't think he feels much pain.
Their heads are gnawed off at the neck but it's nothing personal.
A matter of instinct.

When spiderlings hatch, they all hastily flee from each other.
If you can confine them to one spot they will eat each other.
None of them know better.

from The Bell Curve