The Duck

When I am looking at a duck
I see its long-brimmed bill.
I say “Oh duck, it’s been so long.
They turn and drop their quills.

The ducks, you see
Write poetry;
They do it in the lake.
They scribble fast
Their minds ablaze
They rarely take a break.

Here’s a poem
From a duck
I’m not supposed to have it;
It fell from one of their writer sessions
And as it fell
I grabbed it

Cluck, cluck
Cluck cluck cluck:
Strangers in the night;
My feet are webbed
My bill is long
Fake Feed me and I’ll bite.”

And there I was…
Standing there at the dock,
Without a piece of bread;
And while I fake feed all the ducks—
This one just bit my head!

Did you ever have a bubby?

Did you ever have a Bubby?
You’d know it if you did.
She’s the one already up
Smiling as you walk in.

She’s in the kitchen
Making tea:
She uses the same bag.
She puts the yogurt In the fridge
Swearing it’s not bad.

Your bubby is the one
Who’s lived a hundred lives;
Who’s seen the world
Get very mean
But also get real nice.

Your Bubby though is dangerous
Her specialty is squeezing;
And if your cheeks are plump enough
She’ll tear them off your face.

Your bubby won’t be running
Your bubby wont be loud
Your bubby maybe right beside you
Not making a sound.

One day if you’re very lucky
You’ll become a bubby, too;
Then everyone will love you
They’ll all do things for you;

They’ll make your bed
Cook your food
Put you in a home,
Keep  you far away from them and make you feel alone;

Bubbies are not for everyone
So be one with some caution.
Our hearts needs be the size of earth
Cause everybody wants one.