Summer Midday on the Pond

Lulled by lap, silk upon her bank,
still lies morning pond
—senses vagabond.
By noon her sandy ass winces rosy,
winces randy and sore
with sun’s spank.
Swaddled Bobolink, so nest cozy,
chirp chirps a snore.
In waddled grass,
duck royal does nap
with nary a thought that dog, cat
and  brat…do not.

Maiden flowers, manifold,
winking, they  tease
the   frantic showers
of bold bachelor bees
aswirl, atwirl
the red, gold, the please,
and stink, of the girl musky curl.
To nimbus cloud,
pink nippled thru white chiffon,
moppet  willows bawl for a drink,
as old granny breeze, cognac tippled,
stifles a salty yawn.

Then see them crawl,
their green skin rippled,
the jump high crowd
with  mump-eye faces that stare
and plump-thigh legs that sprawl
lily pad pillows.
Beware! By blink unseen,
shadows slink serpentine
thru the foxtail tall and blonde,
thru the rosette veil of steam.
While far beyond
the pale of pole and net,
fishes sink into unfathomed wet
Dream—Summer Midday on the Pond.

Jean Staff