By Irene Bausmith

When you live on the bay at the Jersey shore…
Summer company arrive by car
almost every weekend, if the sun shines,
and leave when it rains.

Winter visitors are overwhelming.
They fly in from all over the world
with no off‐season reservations.

First the Swan bring their teenagers,
like “trick-­or‐treaters,”
begging at our door.

The Loon visit, but don’t socialize,
diving, diving, busy, busy
not a glance in our direction.

The Buffleheads are next.
A mob, with white headbands,
they ignore our welcoming chirps.

The Redheads, with
glistening complexions,
come to rest and have leisurely meals.

The honeymooning Harlequins,
eyes only for each other,
snuggle on the ice

The Merganser,
with “rock band” hairdos,
twist their heads like “Ringo” drummers.

Many of their visits overlap,
creating a tapestry on the water of brown,
white, grey, and green.

By late spring, migration guests depart.
The bay is left to us, the sea gulls,
and visitors arriving by car.

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