Near the fountain stands the male
In
iridescent glory,
But
his mate begins this tale,
A
true Manhattan story.
These
same ducks have made their home
Outside
a high-rise building.
I
see them swim or sleep or roam;
The
truth requires no gilding.
This
morning, early, as he waits,
The
female, with intention
Of
what she now anticipates,
Insists
on prompt attention.
She
marches right up to the door,
By
which a doorman’s standing
And
opens up her beak to score
The
meal she is demanding.
In
full regalia, he complies
And
grabs a baggie waiting,
Then
shoos some pigeons to the skies,
Their
hope for food deflating.
He
sprinkles breakfast for the pair,
Who
gustily start eating
And
I walk on so I can share
This
urban morning meeting.
No comments:
Post a Comment