Gus

duck

 

Once upon a rainy day

While my mind filled with dismay

I heard a clacking at my door,

A clicking, quacking I’d deplore.

I’d thought, a first, it was the post

Which fills mailboxes coast to coast

With awful offers, credit cards,

Advertisements by the yards.

But no. I’d found, damn the luck,

I was just a rain soaked duck.

A creature I’d want to ignore.

But then, Iet it in my door.

It climbed upon my wife’s bust.

She’d viewed the bird with disgust.

But nothing then could dislodge it.

It told us that it’s name was Blodget.

It said it was a prince in spell

That a witch, which lives in Hell,

Had turned him “zip” into a bird.

(A claim I’d thought, at first, absurd.)

But he’d shown a winning smile

One to convince and beguile.

And so, a time, he’d lived with us.

His first name, he’d said, was Gus.

He told us tales of palace love,

Of kings and queens – heavens above!,

That copulate in cockeyed ways

But were quite proper at the days.

My wife and I listened entranced

But then I’d learned she was romanced

By this fowl erotic bird.

Shortly then it had occurred

They’d both escaped to the south seas

While I go mad by degrees.

 

 

 

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