Saturday, August 18, 2007

Duck Hunting

Although to me it seemed an empty thrill,
we rose before the sun and left beds warm.
To find a duck or maybe two to kill
was our intent that cold and drizzly morning.
My boots sank ankle-deep among the weeds,
the shotgun in my arms an ugly weight.
Ahead my father pushed aside the reeds
and turned to hush a sound I did not make.
For fruitless hours we trudged over soggy earth;
the ducks, it seems, had made a different plan.
My father took the gun from me,
"No luck 'round here today," he said.
We duckless hiked back to the waiting car
To me this was the best result by far.

February 2, 1999

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