Issue #20 (2011) PDF - myweb - Long Island University

Katherine Hogan
BY THE LAKE
—with Richard, Fran and James
Lore has it that
ducks‘ quacks don‘t echo.
What we hear as echo is merely
the overlapping cacophony
mallards make
as their flotilla paddles en masse
toward the bread we toss—all
except Richard, who walks ahead
along the bank, resting on each succeeding
park bench.
A lone Long Island duck, the only
white feathers among clusters
of tawny brown and glistening green,
hops on the bank and marches
—as well as a duck can be said to march—
up to Richard, quacking orders to report
for K.P. duty. On the double.
A uniformed officer, the park ranger, rides
over to say ―Halt! You‘re breaking the law!
Don‘t you see the signs ‗NO Feeding
the Wildlife.‘‖ Wildlife These ducks
are tame, part of the neighborhood.
But we‘ve run out of bread anyway
and the ducks are drifting off,
their quacks echoing
in our overlapping laughter.
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