The pelican upon Miami’s pier
lofts his gullet in cadenzas
and poses as if to yodel,
Arawakan in extended silhouette.
His fellows hunch like tchotchkes on credenzas
in rococo living rooms; they peer
with dimly lidded, idly anecdotal
pupils; and when they defecate, they pirouette
with senatorial finesse and sleek-billed smiling,
each almost daintily upon his personal piling.
When gobbling, this bird will snake mazurkas
with syncopated throat.
Then the ranks of pelicans resemble Gurkhas
in the last days of the Raj; the rote
parade ground of a tallowed attitude
swivels them in synchronized salute.
And each pouched patriarch’s solicitude
rivets the tourists who lob scraps of skate
the pelicans glove like catchers at home plate.
