duck

I'm working here. This is new font. I figure this year we have a work in progress. If I can make it work, I'll keep it, but I might have to switch to a regular site so a particular entry can be more easily found. The other day I was searching for something I had written January fifteenth. It took a long time to find it. If I could put things in alphabetically . . . ah well, we'll see what happens.
The following entry is a bit serious, but isn't life.


a short walk from where we now live
i got to a spot that reminded me
my older brother used to hunt ducks
right here when he was young
here by this tree
now it's practically in the middle of town

he took me out hunting once
to a marsh somewhere
he knew where to go
for some reason a few ducks flew in
shortly after we got there
came low right over us
it was an ambush

yelled at me to get it, shoot it, get it
shoot! shoot!
and i shot

blew that sucker to smithereens
saw it explode, tumble and drop dead
practically at my feet
it took the full force of the shotgun blast right in the chest
i heard the thump when it hit the earth
the mallard wasn't pretty anymore
laying there it looked like a wadded up rag

and i knew that was it for me
i'm sorry it happened
and would never do it again

after college i joined the navy
cause i was going to get drafted
and went in enlisted
didn't want to be an officer
was afraid i'd like it
i led the choir in boot camp
and worked as a journalist for four years
still play the piano
guns aren't for me