day lily
Michael Estabrook
I think the duck is frozen
into the ice over the lake.
Perhaps it fell asleep, stupid
duck, overnight and the ice
closed in around it, trapping
it. But no, it stretches out
its pretty wings, flutters
them, stands up and waddles
away, annoyed, glancing
back at me, as I shuffle
gingerly towards it trying not
to slip and fall down. If it
could talk I suspect it would
say, “thanks for bothering
me, ass-hole. Can’t you see I
was as conmfortable as a day
lily on a sunny spring day?”
