Oh, large, brown, thickly feathered creature 
with a distinctive white head, 
you, perched on the top branch 
of a tree near the lake shore,

as soon as I guide this boat back to the dock 
and walk up the grassy path to the house, 
before I unzip my windbreaker 
and lift the binoculars from around my neck,

before I wash the gasoline from my hands, 
before I tell anyone I’m back, 
and before I hang the ignition key on its nail, 
or pour myself a drink—

I’m thinking a vodka soda with lemon— 
I will look you up in my 
illustrated guide to North American birds 
and I promise I will learn what you are called.

 = Karen Marek