But a Prelude
An officer in the intersection
holds a hand up. All the wheels
are stilled for blocks in each direction.
A mallard, followed at her heels
by hatchlings, heads toward the road’s rim
and an embankment that conceals
the river where they hope to swim.
An engine breaks the peace, its roar
barreling toward them with the vim
of twenty rhinos crying, “War!”
The hen ascends the curb with ease.
For seven newborns it’s a chore.
For a fire truck they’re merely fleas!
It’s nearly on the clutch, whose tiny
webbed feet keep on leaping. Trees
and buildings cooly watch the shiny
monster thunder past the brood
and turn the corner with its whiny
ululation. Quietude
now as the last one, after two
huge hops is safe. This interlude
is one they’ll think of as they view—
from overhead—our human zoo.