To me it was loud but these park-pond Mallards were accustomed to the racket, still milling around the benches and the water’s edge like it wasn’t even there. I wished they’d fear it. I wanted the lawn mower to scare some lost wild back into their webbed feet and remind them that begging for bread was not in their nature.

Over on the next bench an old man sat with a paper bag in his lap. I imagined the talk we’d have as he drank his coffee and hand-fed the birds two-day-old bread from the bakery across the street.

“Hey man, don’t you know bread is bad for ducks.” I said. “It’s got nothing nutritional for them, just empty calories.”

“What do you know—are you a duck?” He said, reaching into his bag. “They love it. See?” A feeding frenzy erupts as he throws a few crouton-sized chunks in the grass.

“I love Cheetos and beer, but if that’s all I ate I’d be a fucking wreck.” I said. “You’re like a crack dealer on the corner, man. Look how fat that one is, I bet he can’t even fly anymore.”

“Ahh.” He’d say waving his hand. “Just leave me be you pretentious prick.”

The mower drew closer, and I snapped from my daydream. The man turned and looked at me. I smiled and waved.

He looked so happy—his ignorance, his bliss, who am I to judge? So, I didn’t get involved and just watched as he bent down to entice a timid hen to take a nibble.  First ones free, tell all your friends. She waddled closer. He shooed away the more aggressive drakes and that’s when she lunged at his face. Startled, he shot upright and threw his arms up to protect himself from her fierce beak. His coffee flipped, spilled, and covered his face and chest with sugar and cream while the bag of bread shot end over end in a high arc over his back landing in the path of the lawnmower.

A pair of earmuff headphones and maybe a new playlist had the kid behind the mower oblivious, and he pushed right over the bread bag. The motor bogged as the blade hit, and while some of the bread made it into the grass catch, the bulk of stale shrapnel flew toward the man and stuck to his coffee soaked clothes and skin.

The timid hen was on him in a flash, she pecked at the bread and pulled at his loose flesh. He tumbled backwards, tripped over the corner of the bench, and landed on his back. The whole flock then moved in on top of him. Even some nearby seagulls joined in the carnage. There was nothing I could do but turn away; it was over so quickly.

The mower drew closer, and I snapped from my daydream. I smiled, stretched my arms out across the back of the bench, closed my eyes, and took in the sun. Ahh, what a beautiful day it was in the Bishop City Park.