Four with three besides

Seeking swans, we found four in disparate nests
along the shore where four hundred floated before,
or so we were told. Now four curved necks flag
three cygnets each, small brown bits purling
hexagons and vee's in the water alongside
their mothers, we presume, who seek zee's
floating beside the Wequetequock weeds.

These are descendant birds of Newport's gilded
age when those regal slaves of the manicured
ponds glided though the nouveau riche preserves
until the Crash of twenty-nine unnerved
their keepers who promptly freed themselves of
responsibility by releasing
them to thrash about, to starve, or to
pander to the poor in public parks.

We gladly give our bread as inadequate
recompense for their long necks and sway.
Along the bay inlets in clusters when
everything else blusters in frozen whites,
they corral in briny patches, somehow
becoming plentiful while never
losing their rarity at Watch Hill or
Roger Williams Park or here by the bridge

of Old Mystic Highway where brochures and
poets claim four hundred come and conquer
and go before we arrive this stilled Sunday;
but still, how lovely to see four and three each
besides, plenty enough elegance for the ride.

--- Barbara Schweitzer