Arcs

Dogs and ducks could make good friends, if only they
received the gift of putting on some airs at a dinner gala
dressed in outfits—costumes, really—that no one wants to wear,
saying words that no one wants to say, making conversation
on what least offends the tyrants of the room, enforcers
of civil order through the long institution of posturing.

Meanwhile, dogs chase the ducks along a lively stream
as passersby look on and smile, forgetting all about their
taxes, divorces, household chores, looming mortality
for the brief time that it takes the birds to take flight, rising
out of the narrow clearing into the rich moist air,
flapping away as barks die away with the honking.