Ducklings Poem by Johanna Emeney

There are ducklings
around the place this morning—
ducklings that cats dare not disturb
because their lines
are so unnervingly straight,
their mother's quacks
too loquacious
and their fuzzy down
too bee-coloured
to engage with.

Even if one were to straggle,
to drop off the end
like a misplaced preposition,
lost for a moment in the long grass,
no cat would mess with it
because today belongs
to the ducklings
and all the other
spring things
that on some mornings
and some afternoons
are just plain off-limits.