Narwhals

Tusks rising high above the arctic sea,
a hundred narwhals frolic. Like a flair,
two bodies, male and female, unaware
they’re being watched, shoot up above the surface
belly to belly, trembling like a sail
in gusty wind. What is the secret purpose
of those long corkscrew lances that each male
displays from upper jaw like a flagpole—
the only spiral horn in all creation?
His hairless hide is smooth as icy onyx.
Torpedo bodies moves like birds in air
propelled by tail flukes, steered by rigid paddles.
The tusks indeed once fooled the foolish folk
who thought that unicorns were real creatures
and paid large fortunes to the shady traders
who claimed the horns were full of healing magic.
Those traders undeniably had gumption!
The unicorn had symbolized great purity.
Small pieces of its horn in holy water:
miracle elixir for the masses.
Folks thought these spiral spears could neutralize
all poisons and cure virtually any ills.
Emperors and kings had cups and forks
and spoons and knives made from the costly tusks
so as to foil assassins. People drank
powdered tusks mixed into H2O.
They did this with the erroneous assumption
that it would cure them of heart palpitations,
scurvy, ulcers, dropsy, gout, consumption,
coughs, fainting, rickets, even melancholy,
which hopefully gave way to joyful jolly.
And that’s exactly what those narwhals are:
a happy lot, for they’re no longer heckled
by evil people on that speckled ocean
who hunted them to make some bogus potion,
as bogus as a blue-haired man from Mars
(except by Inuits, who eat their meat). 
The narwhal’s tooth, as long as that tall story
of unicorns, has in the laboratory
been studied recently by scientists.
Turns out the tusk’s a subtle weather station.
In illustration of this fact, some males
now raise their heads above the water, tusks
held high, while two more rub their tusks together—
no doubt a pleasant feeling. Those tall tales
of unicorns; this scene of pure delight.
For superstition there is no more slaughter.
In peace they now enjoy the wintry water.