Duck Ponds and Silver Rings

On the stone wall of the duck pond we sat. My friend with her slender feet and toes treading air just above the suspect water. She has good feet my friend. Each toe slight and aching for a slim silver ring to be placed upon it. Ducks here and there gave way to hooligan Canadian Geese, arrogant and hungover. Some with downy and superior punk bills clearly from biting some other unsuspecting water fowl on the ass. Some simply looked disheveled as though having just rolled out of bed. Schools, pods, gaggles of them approached us, strutting more so than swimming. We fed them chewed gum and cigarette butts which, true to their parasitic nature, they took. Some floated watching us. Some turned, shat in the water, and ebbed away. We gave them names and conversed for them. All slow geese in the special ed sense. Some cursed and smoked and drank. Others unable to do more than drift. My friend waved her toes at a particularly blank-eyed fucker, called, "Here Kitty, Kitty!" Brave and stupid, he made a play for a toe, meaning to have it. Laughter and retreat. Then another wave and call of "Here Kitty, Kitty!".... Time passed as time always will and soon we walked with friendly space between us past pretty college people and car after car ebbing everywhere and nowhere. It was a good walk. During lulls in conversation I imagined the sound of slim silver rings on slim young toes rubbing lightly together with each deliberate step we took.