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A Sad Duck Eleanor Rigby

Eleanor Rigby, picks up the rice In the church where a wedding has been Lives in a dream Waits at the window, wearing the face That she keeps in a jar by the door Who is it for All the lonely people Where do they all come from? All the lonely people Where do they all belong? Eleanor Rigby Lyrics by Paul McCartney of Beatle’s fame A SAD DUCK her palm pale, a shallow nest for one — breadcrumbs. so called old maid, the librarian-dreams — bluebirds and fancy bows, not in hers. a square frame-mask; crows look in the window. the crone-paste fills in the tracks, nothing more. an echo in her reflection — eternity squared. she clings to the lonely door — she’s left in a basket next to the hermitage. his lips never moved; removed. cue the sandstorm: the lyrics in delirium, the callus-rice in the air. she promised the voice on the phone, she would come, and here she was — alone. an orphan, by ordinance of a puppy basket. the yelp for something to live for. fed and wrapped, kissed twice, on the forehead — once when she arrived. . . again when she left. the whipped cream in the jar — commercial-bling, makes her complexion even — a sad duck. she perks up as she hears her name — “the lonely dame...” the mania frenzies around her. all the same, no one sees her face, terrified blinks.

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