Mud Flats
Crossing the mud flats
of the bay daily,
on 137,
back and forth,
back and forth,
I see lives with choices
and freedom.
Birds free to take wing
and float on a warm
updraft,
bask in the sun,
wiggle in the mud,
hunt for grubs in the grass,
paddle around with
the new ducklings,
walk on water
for awhile,
fly in formation
for the heck of it.
Freedom in the twitch
of every muscle,
freedom in a wingtip
hitting the water, while
I trapped in modern bondage
travel back and forth
on 137.
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