Driving down H Street
Tuesday midday when I come
to a dead stop behind several cars
in a spot that is unusually backed up.

I wait, wondering if there is a slow someone
in the crosswalk ahead.

Only when the single file
of cars begins to move forward
do I see them—a gaggle of two dozen
processing slowly, ceremoniously, their heads
held high and proud atop slender black necks,
silent and stately as princes,

unflappable, their feathers
not at all ruffled by the humans in their
wheeled machines who—to my great surprise
and delight, do not honk or try to rush
the proceedings—

instead wait respectfully,
bystanders observing nature on foot,
until the parade passes serenely by.