They float upon the gentle swells,
with chins tucked in politely.
Of all the birds, most dignified,
their movements never sprightly.
They look like grumpy butlers
named Oliver or Jeeves
in morning coats of softest gray
with wings tucked in their sleeves.
They may be only scouting
the source of their next meal,
for soon they take off to the air
with energy and zeal.
And soon they’re diving down again,
straight like an arrow shot,
down into the shallows
to see what can be caught.
Bobbing once again,
they lift their bills and then let slide
all that’s in their pouches
to another place inside.
I wonder if the fishes flop
all the long way down,
and this is why the pelicans
then fold their arms and frown?
The prompt today is shallow. This poem is a rewrite of a poem published a few years ago..