7166. BELOW THE WATER LINE, pt. 6

BELOW THE WATERLINE

(pt. 6)

Three pheasants there were, with their distinct

sound  -  they'd be in my rear yard each morning,

having flown over the railroad tracks from the

prison-farm yard across the way. They had a

distinctive sound  -  one I always thought sounded 

metallic, like a clothesline squeak, the kind of 

yard-noise these backyard mothers and women 

were accustomed to already. Home-like. Gentle.

Then one day someone came by who was passing 

through. He told me they were called 'ring-neck'

pheasants, because of the distinctive, yes, 'ring'

of color that went around their neck. He had a gun.

He was headed to the prison-farm field across the

tracks. His aim was to kill them. 'Good eating', he 

said. I never saw them again. That was 1959.