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.
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