Ducks Crossing

The ducks are jaywalking again
crossing the road with waggles
like autumn’s first blush of yellow

I can’t tell the kids what do anymore

I wind down the window
“quarrrrrrk” I croak
They ignore me
not just like we speak different languages
but like my voice is intrinsic to the day 
and needs no extra attention

My pre-teen has learned to glare

Late afternoon tips its long-beaked cap,
pulling shadows like reeds
across strips of sundance yellow
all the while storm brows thicker than mayhem
buffet the upper sky

Apparently 9pm is an unreasonable bedtime

There’s nothing humble 
about these autumn evenings
sheets of colour framed in pig-iron dark
and a shameless breeze
cock-eyed and feather-fondling.

The ducks are jaywalking again

8 thoughts on “Ducks Crossing

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