The Stomp by Melinda M. Rice
Have you ever heard of the Stomp? He's a bird
quite raucous and bold.
He comes to the shallows amongst the rose mallows
and hosts a big party, I'm told.
It's only at night when the moon's full and bright
and people are nowhere around
that Stomp will appear. If you're lucky, you'll hear a mixture of avian sounds.
Lured by night life, birds come at Tinailight,
leave perches to dance by the moon.
Magnificent magpies with tux, tails, and bowties,
are drawn by the call of the loon.
First, mockingbirds sing, then Stomp spreads his wings
and raises his beak to the sky.
He skips across rocks. He does the moonwalk.
He can't fly, but oh! he is fly.
Next peacocks join in the delirious din
and strut about fanning their plumes.
They request a slow dance, a pause for romance,
while whipoorwills steadily croon.
But that doesn't last, the Stomp likes it fast.
He turns to encourage the others.
He demonstrates pop, does the wop and robot
with chickadees, bluebirds and plovers.
The Stomp with his feathers like magnolia leather
shares moves that no day bird would know.
He's bound to impress as he teaches the rest
to boogaloo just like the pros.
From ostrich to wren, both roosters and hens
become the most serious of flappers,
all bending their knees with Charleston ease
in sync with the woodpecker rappers.
Safe, deep in their bower, they party for hours,
until the first hint of the sun
when Stomp stops their songs to tell them that dawn
now signals an end to the fun.
Then poof! they are gone, the egrets and swans,
no sign of the fabulous Stomp.
Not a footprint or feather shows they were together
all hobnobbing down at the swamp.