Monday, February 1, 2010

to the lady next to the duck

i am a dead duck, i think.
my feet are webbed in muck
and i do not move my feet.
i lay here, unmoving. i sink.

there is a lady next to me
who sinks more than i.
would paint her still,
but she moves and is camera shy.

she thinks i am a dead duck too,
but she does not think i think---
who is she anyway, this slipper
clad girl who sinks into her street?

i wonder how long her hair is,
i can see in her braid there is care.
i like being a duck but wonder
that i'm stuck by a lady with dark brown hair.

sometimes it seems like nothing will do,
yet always nothing does just fine.

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