In their impatience,
In their petulance,
And with eider elbows flashing fit to fly,
They jostled and jousted
For position ‘A’ precedence
Hard on the heels of mother in her web-foot wake,
Squabbling and babbling their battle around the lake shoreline,
Whilst, some hundred or so metres beyond,
The same scene was being played out -
The mother of all petrol tankers
Steaming steadily up the forest road to Feldberg,
Followed, line astern, by her brood:
A restless road-full of four-wheeled frenzy
All overanxious to overtake:
Accelerating,
Risk-taking
Then frantically braking
Their way up the ranks,
Throwing all caution to the little wind there was
As if they were one-down and last-ditch-effort desperate
In the final few cup-final seconds.
That would be me in the morning,
But today it was ‘for the birds’.
(After watching ducks on Late Titisee (Black Forest, Germany) during the morning rush-hour and seeing the traffic on the mountain road beyond...)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem