Philip K Dick and the Pond Sucked Dry

The pond's been drained down a foot and a half and a city worker
with a weed trimmer is walking the edge from the inside. The ducks are settled on the exposed cement bottom
and more draining's underway, so what. He sat in his car
for an extra twenty minutes and heard the eldest daughter of Philip K. Dick
describe a father as fun, who played softball and April Fool's
and who talked to her at thirteen about the Nag Hammadi. He reclined his driver's seat,
kept his AC on, watched dry leaves fall as the temperature approached
100. The ducks missed most of this. They had other issues to explore.
Where do we go when the pond's finally dry? All the while, the red pumping machine,
with its sucking white snout, kept purring and burping as it drew
the element they know away from the where it is they live, so what. They peck at mud,
lie down in damp leaves. Neither he nor they need to understand.