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Baby Ducks
[.............]
That is the part where my childhood goes,
until about twelve anyway.
Some parts were good, and some were bad.
Some were spent shell-shocked
with blood pooled in my ear.
Or a knot on my head, still banging
inside my skull,
like pots and pans thrown together
into the cupboard.
But I learned to flinch, and dodge,
even run, if an avenue of escape
was available.
So being a teenager wasn't too bad
most days.
I had a favorite hiding place,
in the wide open;
~
Lucinda met me at the lake
where we waited to turn eighteen.
It wasn't soon, months away,
but this was as good a place
as any.
So twice a week, or so,
we'd meet up and share a grievance.
She was letting her neighbor, Roger,
fuck her every few days.
He'd give her some money, and
sometimes she'd take his cigarettes.
I smoked one of them, while
she told me that he was getting
rougher about it.
But, I wasn't one to judge,
not really. Who was I, with
my own poor choices
of fight or flight
or just stand
and take it.
~
The last time I saw you alive
was the day I bashed your head
into the wall.
The same last time, you hit me
in the head with the iron skillet.
Maybe it was all the concussions
that made my head turn to metal.
Something like guilty
by absorption.
Didn't hurt anymore, and so
I swirled up and around,
formed a choke around your neck
and chipped the drywall
with your head.
Yeah, there was concrete 'neath,
but I didn't feel like
taking it that far.
I owed you so many more, but
three was enough
to drop you
just like all your pills would,
more peacefully.
~
Lucinda and I stared
at the mama duck leading her babies
like a wobbly locomotive,
with its eight yellow boxcars,
at the edge of the water.
There were nine the other day.
But that ol' snapping turtle
probably plucked one under.
Just like that, and it's gone,
under the surface.
No one has to see it
get gruesome.
~
I didn't deserve your anger.
I tried to be a pretty good kid.
Quiet, tucked away, my room dark.
One side of my headphones still worked
and I'd let the music make me someone
happier than this.
The ringing in my right ear
has never gone away, so I'd
just wear the headphones backwards
and let the songs pour into my left.
You'd bitch about my devil music,
as I stared at you and knew
that God had forsaken you
a long time ago,
because you sold your soul.
And when you'd come to, face down
in your medicated splendor,
your eyelashes scuffing against the carpet;
You thought it was a lush heaven,
yet you were facing hell.
And God watched,
another of his ducklings
go under.
~
We skipped a few days;
Lucinda brought her friend Tory
to the lake.
"How many?"
"Six"
Two more baby ducks gone.
Tory had the wrong shoes
and whined about the mud.
But Lucinda knelt by me
and let her sigh mix with mine.
"What's wrong with the last one?"
"It's missing a leg, probably the turtle..."
"Motherfucker. We gotta kill it."
I had a good aim. One rock and the duckling
didn't suffer anymore. No more waiting
for the inevitable.
"I meant the goddamn turtle!".
~
As the decades passed,
I'd tell everyone that my mother was dead.
I knew you were alive, somewhere north,
in a contained environment where
you couldn't hurt yourself
or anyone
anymore.
Though I heard you tried a few times.
So they'd restrain you for a couple of days.
Try a stronger medicine.
Switch your gears to stalled.
When you finally, actually, did die,
I was a thousand miles and years away.
I wanted to acknowledge it, somehow, so
I fried a steak in an iron skillet.
I fucked it up, it was tough as hell.
But I ate it, grizzle and all.
~
I didn't like Tory, she was like a snapping turtle.
She'd call Lucinda "Lucy",
as if it would make her whiter.
Because Tory's family didn't tolerate
brown and black friends.
And I knew Lucinda never saw where Tory lived.
But I could predict it.
That gated community, that kept out
the undesirables
like us.
I would always call her Lucinda, though,
because it sounded so exotic.
So not here.
It was somewhere I wanted to go to.
One of those somewheres that aren't here.
~
My sister told me that
she thinks that place killed you
and she was going to look into it.
But I asked why bother,
your death was overdue.
She's far too kind-hearted, yet
stronger.
She found forgiveness for you
and ran with it.
I wanted to admire her for that.
But I couldn't.
~
The last time I saw Lucinda,
she came to the lake to tell me
that she was moving to New Jersey.
Some aunt, with two cousins
that Lucinda has never met.
But, fuck it, why not.
We smoked a cigarette;
The last one from the last pack
she'd ever steal from Roger.
And she told me about the abortion
that he insisted she get.
She had refused, but he threatened
to mess her up pretty bad.
All the ducklings were dead.
The mama duck mostly did circles,
waiting for another mate
to come try again.
I saw the snapping turtle,
I called it Roger too.
I vowed to kill it, soon.
~
I heard that you were cremated,
ironic in that you went to where you belonged.
No funeral, no memorial.
Like a bad horror movie being over
and we just turn the TV off.
Not waiting for any credits
to be shown.
And then we try to sleep,
but too pissed off
over that wasted time, but
now we can move on.
~
I borrowed my uncle's rifle.
He called it his plinker,
for getting rid of the squirrels
in his bird feeders.
I shot that fucking turtle,
after baiting it with pork fat,
to get it to come to the surface.
One shot, and I felt stupid,
waiting so long to do it.
Instead of watching the baby ducks disappear
over this brutal summer.
Then I went to Roger's house;
Never met the guy before.
But I was too unfeeling
to be nervous.
He opened the door, and
I grabbed his throat
and bashed him into the
dining room wall
a fuck-load of times.
"Lucinda says goodbye".
~
I know that there is no
heaven and hell.
There's just this place.
I share it with baby ducks
and snapping turtles.
I prefer the ducklings.
These new ones,
they waddle like
yellow freight cars
following a locomotive
on old, crappy tracks.
Maybe even as far
as New Jersey.
At least now,
they have a chance.
~~~
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