Little feet, six if them
Paddling along.
Six little eyes gazing
Anywhere but ahead
Inevitable clunks.

They meander
And swander off
Swimming in zigzags of flowy lines.

But the second mom turns
Unison.
Conformity. One solid vision of toddlerhood
Swarming and screeching
“Mama, mama”
Like 3 or 4 feet of separation will sever their weak fishing line connections.

Mostly their perifery never lets her escape
But occasionally a duckling
Stumbles ahead.
What! The outrage! An injustice only a triplet can understand.

In the focus and furor over each other they forget, however brief.
They forget mom.
Tussling, pushing, running on.

“Little ducklings!
Come little ducks.”

Mother!
Was that mother?
They turn, adjust
Recalibrations complete, they swarm.

Somehow in a few feet they transform.
Ducks no more.
No.
Wolves. A pack fighting for dominance
And the prize of mom’s attention.

Mom dodges and slips and evades
Seeking breath.
She slowly walks on.

“Come little ducklings”

They fall back in place
Ducks til the next rumble
For now mom swims
In the calm.