Treasure Island

Cornelia Ceilings

(5/11/21 / Outer Mongolia)

The Unfortunate Beak

What are you to do when you see a dead duck,
Its wings snapped like a coffee stirrer in Starbucks,
Its intestine exploded like vomit on Sunday morning,
And its beak, broken from its face?

Its eyes are like fried eggs,
Conspiring against the metaphorical bacon that is its feet.
Poor little duck, no longer can he quack,
If only he had just quacked off.

What are you to do when rigor mortis sets in,
And the duck starts jerking around on the floor?
Nothing probably.
Just watch and admire the beauty.

With feet like Catherine wheels,
Who needs fireworks for limbs,
Poor little duck,
No longer can he rest in peace,
If only he had just quacked off.

Submitted: Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Edited: Saturday, December 04, 2010
Listen to this poem:

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

What do you think this poem is about?

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (The Unfortunate Beak by Cornelia Ceilings )

Enter the verification code :

  • Not a member No 4 (2/7/2007 12:43:00 PM)

    Oh, forgot to read this one before commentiing. Can do that later. Hang on! ! ...That was a mistake - a big mistake. Just read the damned thing. I'll pretend I didn't. Good, well worked imagery, steady tempo, all the formal elements to a high standard. All in all not much wrong with this, and with proper attention I don't see why that duck shouldn't go fishing again. (Report) Reply

Read all 2 comments »
[Hata Bildir]