Eighth Saturday, from Dead Horse Bay, Brooklyn, one day late

Two small Gadwall flocks

Argue: whose water is this?

Mallard swims between.

Green glittering glass,

Blue bottles, pink saucer shards,

Scattered on wet sand.

Rusted iron safe

Lies on its side, door yanked off,

Full of countless snails.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Time limit is exhausted. Please reload the CAPTCHA.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.