solitary heron
stands upon heroin-like sand.
still as a statue.
balances on thin stalk of leg.
demonstrates he is not stoned.
alas, there are those who would stone him.
two teens race toward fair creature
as if they have spotted Magdalene.
rocks in hand they storm the sand
though I stand beside calm bird.
with flex of agile neck
their projectiles miss the mark.
but I am struck by cruel intentions.
I voice a sharp suggestion.
"could you please stand upon one leg
while I rush at you with rocks.
I'll give this heron some canned fish
to dive bomb you from above.
or maybe I should bury you
up to your necks in sand,
after checking with the locals
where the snapping turtles land."
as heron catches my wink
a flustered mother arrives.
she chirps and pecks weakly at her sons.
she appears more frazzled
than avian observer,
as useless as cheap lotion
against the day's intensity.
though still tempted to reply with stone,
I, too, can demonstrate my balance.
c) C. Butler 1996
