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Black-bellied
Whistling Ducks
Strange, new,
and unexpected,
The pair of them
were there,
Close to the
road.
One stood erect,
tall, eyes wide.
The other had
thrust its off-red bill into the swamp’s muck,
and
Appeared to be
trying to pry something from the swamp floor.
Mauve, black,
and beiges they were,
With a narrow
band of black from neck to crown.
They seemed
happy enough,
One erect, one
probing muck,
While the
afternoon wore on
With the rookery
as its stage.
Later, when the
surprise of seeing them had subsided, and
We were back
home,
We listened to
the great duck’s whistling call,
Now, days later,
Colors my
afternoon.
--May 26, 2013
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