Breakfast For the Ducks

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.