Ducks and Violence

Around here ducks and humans are close knit. Ducks aren't intimidated of a fancy car barreling down the lane (while the clock confirms you are now officially late for work); they'll walk across the street with that same fuck-you swagger that powers a run-on. Never increasing or otherwise. We almost appear jolly while idling. Sucking in the fumes we realize that if we were to jump out of the car and punch one in the head we'd probably only lose about 14 seconds in the process. But we withhold the very thing that makes these ducks cross toward the water in the first place.

Daring Duck

I'm staring outside my window at the marsh. The wind beats down on the flaccid waters, creating waves from stillness. A lone duck battles the unforgivingly-natural force. To me it's just wind, but to the duck it's a typhoon. I watch as the duck tries to remain calm, bobbing left and right like marker buoys do when caught in the tide. The creature presses on. Abandoning its first plan the duck kicks its little webbed feet as fast as they go, knowing that a lift-off is out of the question. What is going through this duck's brain? Certainly death is not worth any amount of bread crumbs. Perhaps our feathery-friend is a thrill-seeker. No female ducks (or male ones for that case) can do what the rush of a near-death experience does for said duck.

It moves from left to right, across the marsh, and eventually out of site.

This entry took an unforeseen turn. My intention has been overridden. Thrill-seeking ducks only seem powerless.