8.14.2009

Commute


The Volvo stops a few feet shy
of the crosswalk, the stop line,
the cracked door in the pavement.

Perpendicular to this drive, from the lawn
of the still-dark People's Bank, the ducks
head off to the marsh.

A young female stretches. She yawns, practically
pajama-clad in the entirety of her waking.

Her sister sits on all the good grass,
and she will not be moved.

A nip from somebody's mother
just as the light turns green,
and the brown birds pack up their night.






photograph by John Hanam

4 comments:

Mr. Apron said...

It's the specificity of your work that makes it so enjoyable.

A. Truscott said...

I once saw a male duck standing around mourning the death of his mate. It was the saddest thing. Sorry to be depressing. Ducks are great. I like your poem.

Kate Horowitz said...

A--

That is sad. But hey, maybe he moved on and joined community theatre and had an active later life or something. I don't know.

When I was in college I knew this duck named Ernie and his coloring made him look exactly like he was wearing a sweater-vest and a beanie. He was an all-right guy.

Adam Wishneusky said...

adorable. like the author


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