An Ode to the Hesitant One in the Flock
Shall I go now?
Is it my turn?
Do we even take turns?
What if I misjudge the depth, plunging my beak into sand, and not crab?
From up here the surf is green and white, calming and safe.
There goes Polly – and now Philip, and Penelope.
Can I do it?
Can I do it?
The hell I can – I’m a pelican!
* * *
“Pelican poetry – phooey!”
“Don’t worry; I have it on good authority she’s not getting paid for writing this drivel.”
“Praise de lawd!”
“Not me; I’m an atheist.”
“Really? Myself, I’m an animist.”
“Whatever. Don’t stand so close to me, okay? You have morning fishbreath.”
