Arno Bohlmeijer
By the itching ditch

An important cormorant
seems to be weird in water,
dives and disappears a while.

Next it floats around clumsily.
It sounds like a haughty cliché:
the swan that glides is glorious,

but when it sets foot on shores,
nothing remains of that grace.
Coarse, it wobbles and snorts

like a blunt and plump goose,
coming to rub our stunned, un-
yielding fear: what have we done?

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