Archive
11/14/09
Lunch by Myself, at the Park
I take to the spacious wooden deck bordering the lake, The strap of my burgundy attaché over my left shoulder, A white plastic grocery bag dangling from my right hand.
I'm wearing blue jeans, navy crew socks, brown hiking shoes, A black dress shirt with sleeves rolled up to my elbows, A gold-banded timepiece around my left wrist.
It's uncanny. I've barely sat down on a bench, Yet the resident flock of eight or ten mallard ducks Has flown from the water's far edge,
In mere seconds, and landed below me. They readily recognize me, from my past visits, this autumn; I can tell, by their quacking and antic water dances.
They're anticipating cracker handouts from my hummus lunch, But I'm hungry, this warm mid-November afternoon, And may not have enough to satisfy my own appetite.
Certainly, I don't fault these docile creatures for trying; Indeed, I'd be surprised if they ignored me. Still, I hadn't imagined being so easily identified.
11/14/09
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