Shot Down

Shot Down 

by Ricky Mave

I hate ducks.
When they take to a crystalline sky
Floating like puffs of fat aristocracy,
Yippering madly about nothing—
Like the cheetah coat ladies do.

I aim, looking through the scope of my rifle.
They sprinkle guano on the glass pallet of the pond,
High-flying bureaucrats crapping on our static lives.
There goes the mallard with his blue crown—BAM!
This one is for you, your highness, because you can but won’t.
There goes the flock on his tail— BAM!
This one’s for you, America, because you see but don’t.
BANG BAM BOOM BAM!
These are for you, white-bread world—
Now you can gloat from down here,
Splattered on bedrock
With me.
         Quack on that.