Trees grow craggy and cranky, says Noah.
One old oak grows sideways
so you can walk the trunk
and we do, Noah and me,
we walk up the tree and down again
balancing with our arms stretched out
like airplanes
which is cool if you're four
or seventy-four.

Noah decides to tour the drinking fountains
of Flood Park and why not, this fine day
so we run with wings outspread
a circuit of twenty acres, sampling.
Most are built of concrete, some of shiny steel,
most in sun where the water comes hot,
some under trees where the acorns fall.
One dribbles a bath for birds,
one blasts your nose.
Most of them paired — one high and one low
for the thirsty, for the curious,
for the very young or very old
with so much to discover.

This poem first appeared in Birdland.
Used here with permission.