Ducks Poem by Jordan Simon

The man gets up shouts “It’s Time! ” with great enthusiasm.
He jumps out of his velvet, silk quilt and jogs to the closet.
He picks out a hypnotic tie and his favorite golfing sweater.
Pulls up a pair of new underwear and wool, warm pants.
He creeps down the stairs with sore legs.
He asks his butler to prepare a quick meal of toast and butter.
The butler does what he is told and prepares it like it was perfect.
The man eats it, grabs a warm puffed jacket and away he goes.
He speeds down the roads with his butler driven limo.
It stops at the pound filled with ducks and slowly gets out.
We walked over to the bench like he has done this everyday.
He sits down cool and calmly.
He watches the ducks like they were gods.
For twenty minutes, he is transfixed on the fowls.
Then leans over slightly next to the poor man still staring.
“How long have you been here? ” he asks politely.
The poor man replies, “For about three week.”
“Lucky.” He says with a grin.

2/18/06
© Jordan Simon