I like how a duck’s quack sounds like a laugh.
As if he’s mocking us for not being a duck like him.
He waddles off
Leaving us to ponder his peculiar message
And to rejoin those worth his time.
But what makes his message true?
I have two legs, like he.
I eat breadcrumbs with savage delight.
I breathe and swim and live
Just as he does each and every day.
He can soar into the sky
On wings broader than any man can manufacture
Or art portray.
He is free to explore land, water, and air.
I look longing at his feathered frame and think:
You’re dinner, duck.
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