After the plover hops as it must,
pauses to compose itself, raises its beak,
the one-legged bird could be a partisan
in the shadow of a flag just before
execution by firing squad
Who would ever know or remember?
When it appears, the speeding driver
brakes into a slide over wet leaves,
He must, even though
he’s hurried to meet the woman who loves him,
if only because he thinks
he’s spotted a one legged bird
He opens the car door slowly
so it will not flee,
but quickly learns
it would not have fled anyway
because it’s already bounded
beyond fear
He speculates if
it’s the habit of its species,
like ibis, like sandpiper,
to tuck one leg into its feathers
As it hops again, he determines by deduction
it’s truly mono-limbed
How then did it lose its ability to preen?
How can it elude its enemies:
crouched cats, rats, hawks on a hunt
How can it alight
on a tree limb
without tumbling backwards?
The rest of the day,
the rest of his life,
the driver honors a one-legged bird,
having discover
if nothing more
why woman cherishes a wounded man