An egret, I think, tall gray bird
in the shallows of a small pond
by the fields behind the high school,
poised, quiet, elegant, intensely
focused, its head with its long beak
snapping suddenly like a whip
into the water, stabbing at one
of the innumerable plump, brown
tadpoles beginning to kick their frog legs.
But he misses, comes up empty,
his beady eyes staring down
into the dark water, incredulous
at having failed and,
if I didn’t know better, a little
bit embarrassed about it too.


© by Michael Estabrook.
Used with the author’s permission.