Day Twelve: No prompt. Just poem.
Two chairs sit by the pond.
One has been flipped over,
used improperly and left as
evidence, obstinate green paint
deeply conspicuous against
the melting spring snow.
Two ducks sit by the pond.
They were fooled by the early
approach of warm weather -
now they find themselves
in limbo. Too far from the sun,
too late to turn and fly back.
Two trees fell into the pond.
Their roots reach out from the ice
like tiny, crippled fingers, tortured
by the pain of the freezing cold.
They'll sit and rot until summer.
No use for wet wood in a fire.
One person walks by the pond.
She stops and rights the toppled
chair, agitating the ducks. They
make angry noises and waddle
to the far side. She sits in the chair
and lets their racket fade to static.
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