Some Things Never Change

I used to fling bread at ducks
with stubby little boy arms
not yet skilled at throwing

While I liked avian attention
I didn’t want them too close
with their loud harsh quacks

The duck pond in my hometown park
had a little island that wasn’t
but it’s how I learned the words
isthmus and peninsula

Squatting on the shore
heaving bread into water
with my parents on the “mainland”

I felt the twinge of independence
glad they weren’t too close
still wanting them to watch

But anxious about being left behind

(for this week’s Living Poetry Prompt: Park)