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Navy Duck
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November 28






When the postcard is hung upside down the plane flies away on its back.  I know one of those irregular days with the disposition of a bee-stung mule is on its way to visit me.  I have found diplomacy goes a long way and when it runs out, humor is the best fallback, nothing mean or sophomoric, but the ability to laugh is a fortune in the face of a bankrupt day.  When the sun sets on these spare and harrowing days, I mortgage strength from tomorrow and right the picture then try to fly right.



Plod when you can’t skip.



The Twelfth of April



When I met you,

you were a power tagged and trapped in a box.

A tiger caught by its toe and yet I could do nothing

but fall under the spell of your roar.


The suppressed growl you leave for me

like an invitation I could never decline.

I write to you a note of explanation;

words testifying to my desire,

which I promise to hold back out of respect for you.


And a wish to survive my drive toward you

and your furious stripes and claws.

Your bite which I long to feel,

yet know I must not ask for.


When I inquire if you have read,

you say with sanguine smile, “Read it to me.”

When I am done and with tear stained face,

all you reply is,

“I have lost my taste for anyone but you.”