Potter Ducks


Jemima PD 2

With two ducks the Potter Aylesbury was split

To become Jemima and Miss Puddleduck.

The name was too long for easy naming fit

Though dividing it was a challenge to luck.

Genders were disregarded for literary wit

More important that any anatisine pluck.

A miracle was manifest, blessed duality,

Two ducks in one person with bisexuality.

As things went no ducklings occurred

When the potential progenitors migrated,

Carried in a crate, each a flightless bird

To graze in a big yard wildly vegetated,

Occasionally squawking an avian word,

But overall oblivious, pleased and sated.

They waddled under a jealous vigilance

Of an infant deluded in his innocence.

The innocent innocent sought favour

To ingratiate with Puddleduck her mate;

Jemima was happy with snails to savour,

To abandon his quest, to sit and wait,

To be fed and fattened by his flatterer.

But Puddleduck liked to find what she ate.

The fowl were insouciant and indifferent

But the child strove for them to be cognizant.

But the ducks’ days were short numbered;

Puddleduck was seized in the long grass,

Where she searched out snails untroubled

Meeting the householder with a cutlass.

Worse than a cajoling wolf, he beheaded,

As the boy collected snails in a glass.

For he must provide a Christmas dinner

That would stop them getting thinner.

There was more yet to do duck murderer.

Wise he saw Jemima could not survive sole.

He sent his son for sausages to the butcher.

When he returned the poultry weren’t astroll.

He looked in every nook for familiar feather.

It looked as if they were swallowed whole.

He wandered in the streets in hopeless quest,

Crawled under houses, climbed trees, distressed.

His rest was distraught by anxious wonder,

And raucous drunken mirth of jolly Santa Claus.

Obligatory gratitude outweighed joy in plunder.

Booze-humoured pater watched in pregnant pause

As his son looked at the fowl on his platter.

“I can’t find my ducks to feed their maws.”

“Eat your duck and stop your silly chatter.”

He clanged knife and fork in a fit of pique,

So that his father smacked him on his beak.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s