As the Duck Crosses My Path

author’s note:

Ducks don’t lie.


AS THE DUCK CROSSES MY PATH

At first, I'm impatient
because I must pause

but then I'm distracted
by the comical waddling--

by the little head held aloft
in an aristocratic manner

while the eyes seem so blank, so dumb.

Then the duck hesitates
and a moment becomes a minute
but I use the time to appreciate
the delicate durable neck feathers:
miniatures woven together
to form a dense overlay
flashing a green sheen

cut by the ring
of a neat white neck-band.

But then the duck opens its beak
and makes a hard nasal quack
that breaks my spell--
then another quack
then another quack.

I’m ready to say “Scat!”
but with the next quack
to my chagrin, I hear an echo
of my own reedy voice.

Only then I do realize
what the duck means to tell me:

“you and I are the same--

“clowns waddling around flat-footed--
  proudly announcing their presence
  to the world
  with a one-note song
  both sharp and dull.

“Nevertheless
  if the beholder looks closer
  she will perceive a beauty
  that is the birthright
  of all us foolish ducks.”

Soultime: a novel
© 2021, Michael R. Patton