I wanna get a tattoo of Tony Soprano
and the ducks in the pool
and that look on his face
and that motion of their wings
and the sense that time is moving too quick
and my bodyhusk is calcifying
while my soul remains a wounded little boy
which is too embarrassing to articulate
without the security blanket of the reference
and the implication that I might
Up close, the stripes on a mallard
are a shade too bright, like those colorized
versions of old black and whites that only
make the past seem more distant.
Before they land, the water trembles
with anticipation. Then they plop down
and forget. It’s the combo
of commonness and majesty.
Why spend any minute of your one
precious life looking for an egret?
this isn’t a metaphor.
They’re just the most beautiful things —
catch your breath on their beauty
every day; they’re too dumb to hide.
Every day, until they’re gone.
Gone, and you forget how to describe them —
ducklike? Remember Tony’s face
by the empty pool? It feels something