HONK

A few families scurry by,
Proud parents, all but two.
One couple herds 8 children along,
Trying to not lose the slow one
Who seems more intent on studying his shoes.
I wave;
He looks up,
But his parents warn him away.
Men dressed all in black are not to be trusted.
I keep quiet and seem kindly enough
Though, so they don’t make much of a fuss.
They continue on, the mother holding her head high;
Let her be judged for such a brood;
She couldn’t care less.
They are hers,
She nearly glows.
Behind come a few more parental units,
Pleased as punch,
Content with 5;
A quintet is plenty.
Their heads also nod and bounce a little
Enjoying the day—
Leading the way.
In the rear follow 2;
Solo, looking mournful.
Spring was not kind this year.
Following along they look wistfully at the others,
Their children dressed in yellows and oranges and browns.
If only they could have one.
But they are civil,
They are proper,
They have each other;
That is enough.