Flinch
A herron,
Staring straight
Into the cold wind,
Stands steady
On a branch
No thicker than
It's skinny legs,
And looks down at
Another herron
Standing in the river,
Also staring straight
into the cold wind,
Its skinny legs battered
By cold, choppy
Waves launched in
A tugboat's wake.
My thick calves
And thighs shiver
Under my heavy pants.
I turn from the cold wind.
They win again.
poem by Francis Santaquilani
Added by Poetry Lover
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