The Usual Unholy Racket
June 4 2010


It’s stony sand, then grass
sloping up from shore.
Geese feed here
a caucus, a gaggle, a flock,
strutting, squabbling
squawking-out their claim
to territory,
their general state
of irritation.

The dog delights in chasing
these awkward avians,
who waddle and flap
back to water,
cackling and honking non-stop.

Except for the great grizzled gander
who stands his ground
will not cower.
The pup freezes, confused
then abruptly turns tail,
the old bird in hot pursuit.
Not quite fast enough,
but still
we all know who’s boss.

The geese re-occupy their land
goose-stepping back in chaotic formation,
the usual unholy racket.
And we keep off,
afraid they’ll peck out an eye,
wanting no part
of sharp feet, powerful wings.
Goose-droppings everywhere
the sandy beach fouled.

The pup licks her paws
consoles her wounded pride.
As the gander keeps watch,
strutting triumphant.