Tao of Duck
I sit on a high rock over a lake watching
a duck swim. Sun warm, rock cold, not yet summer.
Friends about, but not near, lake maybe half
a mile wide, duck a third of the way across,
making steady progress. I wait for it to grow
bored with paddling, to unfurl its wings, kick
its feet free, and erupt into air. My mind’s eye
sees beneath the surface one wide webby foot
pushing back while the other, momentarily
narrow, pulls forward – again and again, legs
alternating, chug chugging like a two stroke engine.
I grow annoyed, If you want to get to the other
side, fly, my reasonable self thinks at the bird,
but it sails on, little feathered boat on a large sea,
a stubborn captain in the bridge above the bill,
eye on the far shore, calling into the speaker tube,
Full Foot Ahead. He will not push the fly button.
Strange and aggravating, this duck’s way,
as aggravating as a saint’s.
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