—UH-UH

Water Fowl

It’s an uncommon, moonless night. 

The ducks on this lake pair off,

loop and entwine their necks. 

A brisk, voluntary snap. 

A spasmodic flutter of feathers. 

A turgid stiffening. 

A slow sink.

From the base of the water,

I watch their hazy drop. 

Their webbed feet seem to

reach out for each other,

trying to imitate Otters,

fumbling for security one last time.

But the water is jilted and committed.

Contaminated.

There are other carcasses

and feigned dreams to

dodge and dredge,  

other husks that mar

the beauty of this suicidal pool. 

But really, it’s because the bottom

wants them too much.

As they float past me,

I recognize one, but not the other. 

What I mean is, I can’t identify either. 

They might be us.

They might be me. 

If they’re you, then

you got want you wanted all along,

whether or not you’ll admit it.