The Emperor Bird
I almost trashed an anhinga in the middle of a street
leading out to the highway from our copycat
barrier island: sibling of another it resides beside,
curling around the end of the Florida coast as far north
as North can go, where this part of our universe
spells Home. "What's an anhinga?" my visiting northern
friend asks, a query her southern friend takes to task--
no Emperor Bird in frosty Vermont.
Anhinga: a fish-eating diving bird with an elongated neck
and sharp bill that inhabits the warmer freshwater regions
of North and South America, Africa, Asia and Australia,
lot of A's here for an A-rated equestrian, sometimes
called "snake bird" for its awesome appendage between girth
and head; "neck" not a word noble enough to describe
his body part mostly assigned to lower orders that creep
and crawl. Demonic gray, angelic demeanor, the anhinga
spreads blessing while he sits at the edge of my
neighbor's dock, wings wide out to a warm morning
sun, Jesus worship, anhinga style.
I did not trash an anhinga in the middle of the road,
grateful it was bird, not lowly toad, easy to spot
his important neck so there was no eminent wreck,
when he crossed slow motion from one side to the other
of miniscule lakes at our entrance. Kingly fisher
of dugout waters, too large and handsome for any
cover, as I halted my ride, he gave me one grave and
quizzical look, then satisfied he would not be took,
returned majestically to the pond he just quit
Royal bird of noblesse oblige, no matter the offensive
of manmade machines, for the good of us all,
and our entire physical world, You, emperor entity,
beautiful and live, you must needs survive.
for Elise
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