Saturday Poem / Harmony ('A Real Working') Farm
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Two summers back,
I saw a man standing by a small pond
Next to the parking lot for the Main Attraction.
He held half a loaf of sliced bread in one hand.
The open end of the bag
hung limply toward the graveled grass.
He stood there in his once-white t-shirt
one by one scaling the slices into the lumpy green.
Three lethargic Pekin ducks in attendance
seemed more interested in straining the fetid water
for something that swims, not floats.
Yet it was clear
as I gathered my toddling daughter
who had half a mind to add Goldfish to the deadly feast,
each feathered fowl had resorted
to that processed American White Bread --
convenience over nutrition is a universal.
It's a Wonder any of them could still float.
First Published September 8, 2012 12:00 am