remembering the ducks
I think about a duck pond
which might be across street from
where
my grandparents lived
a place we were allowed to look at from
afar
or am I thinking of what’s called
the Children’s Lake
in a small
like mine
town
that like
across the street had
ducks
and geese that had better scurry as
folks drive through
and the ducks
and geese there have
in fact
their own speeding limit
I don’t know
the ducks are pretty
and
sometimes seem to me
too fragile
as if God forgot to give them
armor
more than the chemicals that
keep them floating
I don’t know
maybe the chemicals are enough
as are
memories
that come to the surface
and
sometimes have ducks floating
upon them
c l couch
photo by Haberdoedas II on Unsplash
(my brief cycle of nature poetry,
fractured and otherwise, ends
with this animated entry; maybe
I have been stir-crazy or simply
become, you know, duck soup)
Duck
I know there’s Aflac
And classic Disney Donald
But I tend to think
On Daffy of Looney Tunes
(TM and circle-R, I’m sure
And circle C for these icons)
Remember when he
Wanted to be rich (well,
That would be always)
And then he angered a
Genie?—in the final scene,
Bugs Bunny opens up an
Oyster, discovering a
Pearl; then a transformed,
Tiny Daffy runs up Bugs’s
Arm, cradles the pearl under
The ceiling of the shell
And, while the shell (and the
Episode) is closing, mutters in
A high pitch to himself,
“I am a wealthy miser.”
Now, children of any age,
Aren’t those words
To live by?
That’s all.
Folks.
clcouch123 
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