Journals of Yesteryear
Love and Death in Central Park
A poem and drawing by Larry L. Dill
Originally published in the New York Street Edition of The New Hope Journal
January, 1992
waddles along the path between the pond and the park benches,
stops in front of me and looks right up into my eyes.
His overgrown blood red comb makes him look a little like a turkey.
I decide not to speak in human words but try to talk with my eyes
like he is doing. I think he is asking for food. I try to tell him with my eyes
that I don't have anything to give him.
His human counterpart, I'll call him "Red," a short, freckle-faced old man,
waddles up beside the Captain and just stands there too, not saying anything,
but sensing that the duck and I are having a conversation.
Finally, I break the silence and say to Red, "I wish I had something to feed him."
Red says, "The old lady died. You don't see her around anymore."
I think he's referring to another human, a woman I've seen here many times
feeding the Captain and all the other ducks and pigeons and squirrels and sparrows.
"I don't think she's dead," I say hopefully, "I saw her here the other day."
"No," Red says, "he had an old white duck for a mate. She died. He's very
lonely now."
"Oh," I say, and look back into the Captain's eyes. They are wet.
No more words are spoken. The eye conversation gets too sad for all of us.
The Captain turns and waddles away. Red follows respectfully behind.
I go home to my wife.
larrydill@newhopejournal.com
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