ducklingA Poem by h d e rushinfor those, who this morning, has ducklings and chicks swimming in their bathtub.
Duckling. Don't think for a minute that I can't love a thing with a furry bottom. I gave you as an Easter present to my daughter, not knowing that you would relieve yourself once every 15 minutes. Or that you might just quack at an absent moon with fits of lunacy even with bits of dried corn in your cheek.
But you were white, meaning you didn't grow up in the city. And when I looked in your eyes I could see two intersecting arcs of a spherical surface which wouldn't focus. Not to mention that you followed me to every room and even met me at the door like an old lover until I wished and dreamed outloud that you were gone. Tender quack and all,
to that summer seascape painting of the 19th century, concerned with the depiction of effects of light and atmosphere. And that you were in estrus 10 months out of the year, which means that you were either a dirty w***e,
or the most beautiful woman on earth. © 2013 h d e rushinReviews
|
Stats
88 Views
3 Reviews Shelved in 1 Library
Added on March 19, 2013Last Updated on March 19, 2013 Author
|