His nose tucked neatly
under his wing,
slumbering peacefully
in the cradle of spring,
dreaming, no doubt,
of tasty pond goo,
he isn’t aware
he’s a one-duck zoo.
The youth of the pond
in rapt exploration
are staring at him
in awed contemplation,
trying to figure
just how in the heck
came a backwards head
on a wrong-way neck.
The thundering herd emerges,
nests and burrows shake;
Miami ain’t got nothin’
on the partying pond’s spring break.
Indifferent to the heron,
careless of robin and jay,
they hog the warm pondside
elbowing squirrels away.
Hedonistic revelers,
greeting glad springtide,
Mama most the manic,
getting the kids outside.
When life in the pond
becomes dissolutional
it’s time to brisk up
with morning constitutional.
It’s raining cats and canines
the sky just keeps on pouring
it’s oppressively predictable
tedious and boring.
But it’s Disneyland to this guy
with his stripey periscope
“Come on!” he gurgles at me —
I’d rather be dry and mope.
Oddments 