The ducks,

The ducks, those perfect little machines,
leave flames in their wake: each trail
of feather-oiled ripples roaring
with fire all over the water.

An old woman pulls up in a deranged automobile
and throws them bread and the meat of other ducks
from her window. They smack their beaks
and narrow tongues together slightly
as they pull the morsels apart, flurries
of meat-eating ducks reflecting in black water.

The woman leaves with an engine snort,
the ducks get stoned on her fumes,
then take off leaving trails of fire
across the limited water.