Friday, June 10, 2016

an informal treatise on the nature of ducks




A family of mallards
has taken up residence
in the garden, amidst the creeping
jasmine
and the green hawthorne
thicket,
where the black snake lives.

It doesn't seem like a
wise choice of
habitat,
but then mallards are not exactly
wise.

They are, however, genial,
also punctual—
marching in each morning
on their marmalade feet,
emerald feathers slicked and glossy,
ready for the ladies.

They are two brothers,
playboys, I suspect—
but sometimes their sister tags along.
Or is it their sister-wife?
You never know with mallards,
and I never ask.

They stick around for
breakfast
and sometimes they
fly over the fence to visit
the city ducks
with their virgin white
feathers.

I guess I should tell the neighbors,
but I figure everyone needs
a walk on the wild side,
now and then.