Swans at Lake Como, John Timpane (September 2026)

Swans at Lake Como

Someone’s breakfast hits
The surface of a lake
And sharp Alps buckle, warp: an orange beak
Spears a croissant and lifts
 
It up. Gulp: it’s gone.
Kids with backpacks throw
Leftovers. Opportunist gulls and smews
Hustle around two swans,
 
Risking a razor peck,
But that’s the price of food.
The minor birds are seasoned gamblers, good
At ducking white-snake necks,
 
Wings like snow tornados.
Nothing gets rid of them.
From time to time the two mute spouses swim
Apart, as if they chose
 
To be alone, when it’s
Fatigue at the froth of theft
Around them, desperate battle right and left
To have what others eat.
 
The two mates can’t rehearse
What was or mourn what is,
Trained handout addicts looking for a fix,
Two more scavengers
 
Of many. Nothing helps.
Scraps fly. The two swans smell
More food, swim back, dependent, beautiful
Among the wavering Alps.