Birds At Sea

Adrift upon the ocean bob a bunch of resting birds. What is it that they call themselves? A flock or school or herd? Could it be this feathered colony is a band or horde at best No screeches, calls or gaggling, they don’t brood or crowd or nest Spread out like black freckles, birds are shuffled by default. Flavoring the ocean dash of pepper to sea’s salt Not gliding like mighty albatross with wingspan strong and wide. Or dancing with the currents right by the dolphins side Just floating in the middle between the blue and green Neither soaring in the heavens or a coral dance routine And there, what’s that beneath them, beyond their paddling feet Just some strange attraction? Or friends they’re yet to greet. A sudden splash of water! Could it be a pod of whales? Or the giggle of a baby seal, nipping at their tails. Will they look right through the jellyfish, that flash and throb and group to the gathering bunch of mackerel congregating in the soup But no, they’re not much bothered by the party in full swing. They just gossip amongst each other While cleaning weathered wings Waiting for the wind to change On the ocean they sit tight Regaining all that energy needed to take flight So what's its name, this party? Of primp and craning necks. In the skies they flock together On the ocean, they’re a wreck!