In mid-July the Widow Wyile
took Old Mother Hen for six
summer swims in gentle lake
water on the cool side of warm 

Mother Hen was an old hand
at floating and fluttering
but a whole year had passed
since her last watery détente
in her floral foliage bathing suit 

First she fluffed her feathers
so she’d look a bit more substantial 

then she squeezed her head
into a silicone robin egg
blue bathing cap to protect her ears 

and then she carefully strutted barefoot
from the grassy verge
through the sand
around the stones
and then one foot
                             two
on into the water

Cluck cluck
such luck
to get to the lake
once again
feel that summer swim glory 

She floats good and well
as any blue green dory or waterfowl
what a pleasure it is
to kick like a frog
wave her wings like fins
and be held by water
even as she slides through it 

Cluck cluck
such luck
these old muscles and sinews remember
all the way back
to last summer and all
the summers before that 

The first swim it was tender
the second it was splendour
the third, of course, a charm
the fourth a balm
each one invigorated Old Mother Hen
and fluffed her feathers further 

She flapped her wings
and smiled like a spring chicken
then swam farther on the fifth
took a day of rest
so that the sixth swim
it was supreme

Cluck Cluck
what luck
to be duck-hearted
an old frog-legged wonder
in a long line of water-spirited souls 

Six swims are not many
yet as past and present pool
each swim affirms
a possible future
a sensational silver seventh