Sunday, July 31, 2011

Duck Soup


A plume flies up collapsing
back to flatness, a ponderous pause
and up springs a duckling, fluffy
but with butt bedraggled.
She sips duck-poo soup
and snatches flies
from the bottom of the sky,
splurging with her siblings
like golden spiderlings,
as busy as bees in the water-lillies.

Emerging from their submergings,
broadsides besides a lardy mallard
evoking long-ships, with his draconian head,
as he waddles by on lobstrous feet...
Flustered, he flaps his wings
and peacock-blue rhombuses blink
and fling off oddly fluttering splodges
of soggy leaf-litter... Weary of malarkey
he fans out his butt like a pack of cards
and onto a flagstone flops.

Wary of malady
he gingerly stretches out his white-collared neck
for sumptuous croutons,
a little presumptuously. Unhinging
winds fringe maroon-fingered moon
like a waiter with a supernatural soupspoon;
a crater of rubble like a burst bubble
serving as a seat of tranquillity
for a duck quacking up a soporific
melody of sounds pacific:

......Talk about a duck
......floating on a lake
......looking like a wooden decoy does.
......Talk about a drake
......ducking wooden ducks
......making
......all the
......ducklings
......he can
......make.
......

No comments: