The first one was actually Diego
overnighting in the bathroom
sink, which I did not discover
until a 4 a.m. foray in the dark
and a flipped light switch before
I turned on the faucet.

Not five hours later, on a morning
walk, Deb and I came across
a literal silly goose nestled
in the center of Sandburg Drive,
sleeping, its neck twisted backward,
as they do, beak tucked neatly
between its folded wings.

I stood over it, urging it to move.
Like Diego, it blinked at me,
beak still tucked into feathers.
We could not leave, we two
animal mothers worried about
this silly goose who’d decided
to nap in the street.

We did not nudge but got so close
that most other birds would have
risen in fear or at least hissed,
but not this guy/gal/whatever
giving us the go-away eye.

Finally, he/she/they flapped
out a wide webbed foot, then
another, and less-than-gracefully
stood, fluttering feathers a bit.

“Gotta move, dude!” I said from
behind, recalling that the kids
use the term for any gender,
and besides, the silly goose
wouldn’t care as it eventually
sauntered to the sidewalk,
where Deb admonished,
“Stay out of the street now,”

as if we could convince such
a headstrong animal of anything—
least of all the wisdom of choosing

a better spot than a sink or
a street as a lovely bed for
a snooze.

But, you know. Silly people.
We have to try.