unsaved

it's
just one duck,
one feathered, billed
small
beast
in the woods
now stuck
by weeds.
he struggles to free
himself
in the cold
water.
the tangle holding
firm
as he pulls and pulls,
trying to
fly away.
his wings flap hard,
but he
goes nowhere.
he makes no sound
other than the splash
of him
trying to free
himself.
he's too far out
for you to go in.
there is no stick
long enough,
there is no saving him
or everyone, for
that matter.
you walk on
with some degree
of sadness,
confirmed by what you've
always known.