“Fowl Say”

Every day when I come home
I am heralded by these ducks.
Eight matted and framed prints,
four on top,
four below.

Some are mid-flight,
winging over marshes at dusk,
or wild, wind rocked waves.
Others are peacefully drifting
in murky greens and browns,
burnt orange feathers fluffed out.

They were a gift to my girlfriend

from her family, a part of her legacy.

They’ve been moved from home to home,

and have been nesting here for years.

I’ve tried to replace them with
a jewel toned beauty by Klimt, and a
black slashed self-portrait by Beckmann.
I’ve suggested we retire them to the garage
or sell them to a duck enthusiast.
She just laughs.

I’ve managed to remove the stained glass

depicting a giant fish joyously, foolishly

leaping towards a baited hook,

but the mahogany framed ducks remain.