Get Your Premium Membership

The Complaints Of Ducks

The Complaints Of Ducks
the city
filled in
the small
in the middle
of my tiny

all the ducks
came to
my door
and complained 
i am
i agree
in the meekest
of language.

that they 
have been

it is 
my duty
they tell 
me as a poet
to open
the  door
of my 
small poem
and let 
them swim
in my bathtub.

i agree
it is tough 
to be unhomed
there should 
be plenty of room 
in my weensy poem
for such 
a small flock
of fluffy ducks.

the  periods
are silent
they must know 

the ducks
fill up my
as they quack
double sestina
to the pond 
that has been 
filled  by those 
unfeeling humans!

it is 
hard to work 
in such cacophony 
such repetitive
quacking repetition
like floating wood
float to the surface
of my eye-ear
in spades.

often i type
my meager haikus
on my typewriter
with missing
chrome keys:

typewriter  chrome keys flutter cure
clear water within  pond flows pure
ducks like ink letters rise into line.

says my 
“that is an englyn milwr
not   a haiku”

you sparrow
i tried again:

typewriter keys clatter
rises like letters in moonlight 
ducks swim on round poem.

Then the tiny bell
as my typewriter
comes to the margins
and quacking subsides.  

The ducks come
to my study
and complain
that my typing
is quite distracting
to their 

The periods
can only  chuckle
like crickets.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018

Post Comments
Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.