The Abduction of a Forsythia-Yellow Duck
Saturday night. Bath time. I am deep in
rising puffs of steam, between warm breath
of fog, lavender salts, and 11 o’clock.
My legs, bitten by hot water, seem
buoyant and drowning at the same time,
and my toes are painted scarlet Sirens.
Such wee beauties, my alluring tragedies.
Sing, chorus of razor-sharp tongues
from sibilant Isles of Sirenum Scopuli.
A Siren is calling to my forsythia-yellow
rubber duck. Ho! Tie yourself to a mast!
Stuff your ears with soap, and duck!
The howl of wind, a funnel of echoes,
a slash upon smooth white porcelain cliffs.
Ooh, those wooing maids painted scarlet
are swimming a stone’s throw from
the pebbly shore. Beware my ducky,
my brave odd bobbing Odysseus.
Beware of harpies and kelpies and
tentacled amusements, creatures
of servitude and abduction lusting
for your forsythia-yellow, for your
The Sirens are singing, are singing,
are singing, yes I said Singing!
Do you hear them, my Duckery?
Flee this waterlogged place, my
And lo, low-blow, he’s lost to their
tones, sinking, sinking in a drink
of that lavender salt water. Gone!
Another duck’s drowned, downed
by a Siren’s scarlet painted toes.
Visual Verse Anthology, Vol 9 Chapter 3, January 2022. Image by Dee Mulrooney. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting #apoemaday on Twitter
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