Assault of the silver duck

         Assault of the silver duck
I am different from the Muscovy or the Mallard
I am little shy and don’t like to be badgered or bothered
The hormonal instincts had impeded my cerebral center of clear thinking
So I sat on a clutch of eggs
For quite long without the least bit of worrying.

The farmer was cleaning the barn
He transported me to be with the other ducks in a different situation.
He threw the eggs away ‘cause he thought the eggs were duds
No babies had hatched despite my sitting long on them spuds
I heard the farmer say that ducks have no concept of time
I thought that he was a fud and not a friend of mine.
There was a chill in the air and the leaves were falling
It was too late for the babies to be arriving.

I felt tired and weak from not eating
Waiting for the “quickening” to occur under my belly while I was sitting
No sooner I had arrived with my other colleagues
The big duck put me down and bit me on my neck
I saw ten others, bullies, standing by and bobbing their heads
I guess they were afraid
Even the guinea had stood by quiet
I had felt violated and humiliated
They walked away as though I was unaffiliated.

I felt ashamed and lonesome
I flew and swam
I knew I couldn’t face them
So I made efforts to scoot myself through a gap in the wire fence
On the other side where the chickens looked at me with suspense
I was rather tense.
They don’t teach ducks Pranayama yoga
Or the 4-7-8 breathing to overcome insomnia after such offense.

A layer sat next to me on a pile of hay
I didn’t know what to say
But I shivered and made whimpering sounds
The chicken hovered over me to comfort
I fell asleep in the quietness that was around
When I woke up there was a large white egg next to me on the ground
The chicken reminded me that all eggs don’t need hatching
Some are just for the fun of laying
And to watch out for the males that are busy looking
To establish hierarchy and be demeaning
But for me to understand Isaiah 40:31.

I realize that St. Augustine had disapproved of Lucretia’s final act
But I respectfully disagree, said the layer
We became friends forever
She knew that grief often turns to anger
I learned to lay eggs and walk away
I equated the farmer’s voice to a bray
‘Cause the chicken taught me to love myself despite the insult and torture
I grew up and became a rapporteur.