While crossing the river

The river, liquid and solid, like oil and marble, flows slow tonight. On another bridge, two blocks north, I hear voices.

"Look, ducks, Pa!"

"They're ducks. The green one's the man. The brown one's the woman. Oh..."

"Look, Pa, duck sex!"

"Yep."

"I didn't know ducks had penises and vaginas."

"Just like people, son."

"Ducks sure like to bite each other, don't they Pa?"

"Yep."

"Do you and Ma..."

"Hold it right there, son -- the answer is yes...the answer is always yes..."

It rains lightly. The voices fade into the night, drowned out by my shoes' squeak and a very loud quack.
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