They gather by the thousands to an oasis nestled in the suburbs,
just off Route 132 in Shrub Oak. A bucolic Hudsonian scene,
footbridge included, sets the stage for a homecoming
back to lower New York. Any time of year, there they are.
Geese sprawling on the shallow pond,
on the well-kept greens of gated property, claiming their own metropolis.
They invade the lakes and golf courses as well
summer and winter alike. This is their place as much as mine.
Mallards have a difficult time squeezing in under
bridge or makeshift pool; never a human seen here.
The house, the sheds, even the bridge bleed to background
behind the clamoring black necks and distinguished white cheeks.
I don't know the owner of the gated property—just the same.
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