Monday, August 26, 2013

On the ice

They mostly come by night
Light-haired strangers
Brawling and squawking
At the shore
For the precious bits
Of sustenance
The old oaks
And tired elm offer
Ruffled feathered
Philosophers who
Ponder dawn
From their flapping lofts
Complaining hotel guests
About lack of hot water
Or towel or some other
Minor inconvenience
Most can live without,
Or stool-warming barflies
Glaring around at who
They can sucker into
A refill,
Some never land
But glide for miles
Streaking beneath
Snow clouds
While others
Peck at each other’s hearts
For apparent fun
Or wreck others minds
For profit
Mostly, they dance alone
Squat upon their haunches
Without permanent partners
Eyeing everyone
That has more than they do,
Especially those
Who have partners,
To swish through this
World of insufferable reeds
Love-tapping beaks
That gets them through the lack
Of heat of this winter river,
While the crabby loners
Wonder where their lives
Went wrong, snapping up
Those grains of cracked corn
Strangers give or they can
Steal, always organized
Even when the cracks
In the ice
Consume them.

No comments:

Post a Comment