364 – Dirty Jokes & Ducks

Dirty Jokes & Ducks

Bed down the year, you
frozen oaks. I can see right through
your spiral skirts, branches benching
against the sky peeling blue,
two-tone, skimming ice
like glass in the mudflats.

The left-over mallards are bastards,
laughing at obscene duck jokes.
My knees get ahead of me,
saying Don’t forget the body
is a standing casket
in their creaky tongue.

I call bullshit out loud
to a yellow dog running ragged
circles around a reddened woman.
They both stop, stilled
by my voice and the small truth
held in it,

though the dog never quits
his tail, but cocks a furrowed brow
my way. I take his meaning.
On the walk home, I compose
my own dirty jokes to tell
my wife and friends.

We’ll laugh this old year out
and surprise the New
with the dark well of our bellies
and the red-hot flash
of our rolling tongues,
streaked with joy.

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