Skip to main content

A duck sat by a river looking at its reflection

A duck sat by a river looking at its reflection
Wondering, where will I go? What do I do?
When I die one day will anyone remember me?
Will I catch a bite tomorrow? Will the nice ladies from down the block come in their bright sundresses and feed me stale bread crumbs while gossiping about other women?
Why am I a mallard?
Why can't I have been a beautiful swan, elegant and to be envied, instead?
Why must I make such hoarse, pathetic sounds?
Quack! Quack! Quack!
Putting aside all that, why can't I have been born a male duck instead?
With their striking green plumage, the purple glitter on their wings, and their mustard yellow beaks?
Why must I be a little brown critter? I look like a sad mop!
Where will I be five years from now? Ten?
Will I have ducklings, or will I be long digested in a fox's stomach by then?
What rivers will I swim in, and which ones will I never have the chance to visit?
On what day will I swim my final swim?
So many things going through the poor duck's mind
But to the fox, she was hapless and stagnant- an easy meal
To the other ducks, she was kin
And to everyone else in the world she was a duck sitting by the river looking at its reflection





Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Women: Living Contradictions

What does society want? For women to achieve impossible standards (and, by the way, it is NOT possible to achieve something that is impossible). Society wants us to be living contradictions...cabbage heads on stilts... airhead rocket scientists. Society wants us to be things that don't even exist in fiction, but only in the glossy pages of a Cosmopolitan magazine (look at me! I'm so skinny! So happy! Sexy all the time!). As I heard said many times before, "even Victoria's Secret models don't look like Victoria's Secret models." The way the proportions are warped, each pimple bleached, each hair trimmed down to pre-pubescence, toes and fingers without a scar, and the face angelic and so happy... it makes me sick. It makes me sick because of the contradictions, because women are expected to: Be sexy but not slutty Be innocent but not prude Be virgins but also fantastic lovers Be independent but submissive Be good mothers but maintain careers Be...

The Flood

Sometimes I feel like My insides are flooding Threatening to spill out And clog glutters in the street With all my unsatisfied ambition Sometimes I want to drown In a soup of grey water To just forget it all And become one with the tunnels, Streets, and people of the city Their shoes tracking dirt From one train station to the next Let the rain water drain it all Cleanse it all The grief and the dissatisfaction The mundanity and the boredom Of the occassional commute Let the flood take me Take us To a train station that hasn't been built yet On tracks that don't yet exist Far, far away In the meadows Where the soil can finally soak up All the grey unwanted rain

Happiness is Pink Jellybeans

Happiness is jumping in a pool of pink jellybeans Feeling the cool candy on my skin Happiness is enjoying the pleasures of life Without worrying about confessing my sins Whoever said that we are gluttons For biting juicy pears on the beach Must never have felt the sand in their toes They must have placed their own soul out of reach And what about greed? It's not all that bad To bury a pile of chestnuts for the spring All animals do it, so why shouldn't we? If it's greedy to love yourself, let it be Lust is the one that makes pastors blush Yet it's one of the greatest joys in the body A kiss and a dance, laughter and romance Why did we ever label this happiness as naughty? Have you ever seen a cat sad when it naps? It is okay to sometimes be lazy The body needs rest as does the mind Or the world will set fire from the crazy If happiness is a sin, then let me smile in hell Looking up at the do-gooders above For to live is to err, to cry, and to sing Happiness is pink jell...