Like a family at a picnic

They were trying to be together,

But they didn’t get along.

Well, not completely.

Tolerating each other’s presence, they walked about and

Checked out the scenery; stood at the edge of the river

With hands on hips, making polite noises

Watching lily pads float.

Then someone found a good thing

In the garbage. That’s when the trouble started.

They argued and pulled at it until the biggest one

Flew away with it in his beak,

But it was too heavy, and he dropped it…big mistake.

The rest of them swatted it with wings and stabbed at it with

Talons, until a breeze came by and blew it into the river.

They stared after it

Making side-ways glances at each other

Until it was forgotten

Because some new smells drifted across the campground.

They flew in circles

Landing in the branches of pines.

Except one, who still paced the shoreline

In the shadow of the picnic table

Knowing he could get it back if he tried.

© Diane E. Dockum, Just Beyond The Hill, 2008

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