Our house in Iowa City stands adjacent to a man made pond where predictably the ducks have been busy doing duck-like things now that the ice is gone and yesterday morning, early, as I was walking our golden retriever (a family pet) "Maggie" (who likes to stare sagely into the middle distance and can do this for up to four hours at a stretch) a cartoonish and frenzied feather storm of a duck flew low over Maggie’s head declaiming in duck lingo the following poem:
"Dog-person, dog-person stay on your side of the rowanberry bush
Else we ducks will take up leider music with the savagery of Beethoven
And the vocal manner of Igor Stravinsky, who was forced to leave his homeland
Because he sang in the shower and innocent children and old persons were terrified by the sound, and you wouldn’t want that kind of thing to be visited upon you, would you?"
Duck poetry doesn’t have to rhyme.
S.K.
Planet of the Blind 