DUCK FEATHER

 

a single feather

poked through my jacket

so I pulled at it

pulled and pulled, pulled and pulled

until out came a duck

an entire/ bemused/ duck

 

we stared at one another

dumbstruck

 

the duck was spotlessly white

as though bleached

each square inch startlingly pure

except for- a single/ brown/ hair

I paused- then I pulled there

pulled and pulled, pulled

and pulled, until lo and behold

a man emerged, six foot

head to toe, thirteen stone

 

he was smartly attired

sharp-suited, wine-fluted front

top label, immaculate

save for a single/ blond/ speck

on the lapel

what the heck- I pulled there

pulled and pulled, pulled

and pulled until

with one big final pull

a woman emerged

early thirties, professional

 

the man, the woman and the duck

gave one another a sideways look

then leant in towards me

and began to pluck

pulling, pulling

pulling and pulling

until finally

                       out came

                                           this poem

 

copyright Ash Dickinson