At dawn, the lake smooth as steel,
sunlight bolted to its lacquered face,
fallen trees stacked and streaming in the reeds.

Enter speedboat left:
growling like one
long clearing
of the throat.

Enter pelican right:
wading with his beak
on the end
of a spear.

A feathered football he is punted clear,
and the herons in the grandstand cheer.

(published in Westerly; Indian Ocean Issue.. Vol. 24, No 3)