Monday, February 01, 2016

Pursued by a Duck

Edge of the edge, the ducks explore

Duckitude.  They don’t know it, though.
They nibble at the sludgy shore
While we call names and say we grow

L’homme qui criat canard.  That sedge
Is served them there so we can chime,
We should admit that.  If they cadge
A breadcrumb, panic.  A loup in time,

The ground subsides, the ducks retreat
Like Muscovy.  Here, let us count.
One duck, two ducks: this life is sweet,
When wild in just the right amount.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Ah, “pursued by a bear,” on a lower register. I love it. OK, I like it. “They don’t know it, though.” This is true, too, to the way our perceptions of animals contextualize their life in a way that, to them, means absolutely nothing. I’m with you there, unless, of course, you’re somewhere else.

As for the rest of the poem, your razzle-dazzle left me in the dust.

Carry on, poet! I was just checking in to see if you were still here, & maybe if some of the “old crew” were commenting. Not lately, huh? No matter, we’re with you in spirit.