busy with whales

I did not see any whales today, but I did sit in a palapa on the beach for the whole morning, and I certainly considered the possibility of whales (we're on the Caribbean, so whales are pretty unlikely, but I suppose you never know). It's the first full day of vacation, and I woke up feeling pretty great—well-rested, relaxed, ready to lie by the pool and drink cold beverages and read. It's really nice to be here.

One of my favorite things about Billy Collins is the way his poems are so straightforward and simple—even, dare I say, prosaic—in some ways, and then just gently and lovingly punch you right in the face.

Today I was awakened by strong coffee
and the awareness that the earth is busy with whales
even though we can't see any
unless we have embarked on a whale watch,
which would be disappointing if we still couldn't see any.

I can see the steam rising from my yellow cup,
the usual furniture scattered about,
and even some early light filtering through the palms.

Meanwhile, thousands of whales are cruising
along at various speeds under the seas,

crisscrossing one another, slaloming in and out
of the Gulf Stream, some with their calves
traveling alongside—such big blunt heads they have!

So is it too much to ask that one day a year
be set aside for keeping in mind
while we step onto a bus, consume a ham sandwich,
or stoop to pick up a coin from a sidewalk
the multitude of these mammoth creatures
coasting between the continents,
some for the fun of it, others purposeful in their journeys,

all concealed under the sea, unless somewhere
one breaks the surface
with an astonishing upheaval of water
and all the people in yellow slickers
rush to one side of the boat to point and shout
and wonder how to tell their friends about the day they saw a whale?

—Billy Collins, "Whale Day," from Whale Day: And Other Poems (New York: Random House, 2020).