Cormorants at Yaquina Bay

by Karen Jones

Along the plank connecting old dock pilings,
they stand, ragged, adolescent, legs apart,
lift stubby wings in an arc to dry.

Another flies in, lands too near his neighbor.
They spar for a moment, then sidestep away
in black huffs of disgust.

Spaced like a row of theater luminaires,
the cormorants perch and preen,
open their wings, flap, balance again.

Below them floats a red and white buoy.
Gulls cry, a boat speeds by, its fishing net
flying like a standard in the wind.