I wanted to say this out loud to a picnicking family on the riverbank.

The swan’s neck don’t stick out white for you
don’t make patterns for painters
on fold-up chairs in bright landscapes.
Strained jerk for orange peel
and cast-away mustardy crusts
that stretch ain’t natural.
It’s the delve-down mystery pain
dark head in dark entangled weed
that’s what he grew his neck for.
He’s not yours
he’s his own self in his water world.
He’s not there to tie your lovers’ knots
with a white that’s probably purity.