Title: Duck

Author: Bernadette Hall

In: Sport 18: Autumn 1997

Publication details: Fergus Barrowman, April 1997, Wellington

Part of: Sport

Keywords: Verse Literature

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Sport 18: Autumn 1997

Bernadette Hall — Duck

page 9

Bernadette Hall

Duck

there's a duck on the road
its head sticking out of the shiny dark
twisting like a tap turned on turned off

it's hurt, it's stuck
on the thin white line that divides
four lanes of manic traffic

why did the duck cross the road?
because she thought she had to
because her mother had done it before
because she didn't think
because she didn't thinks she had to think
because she was hungry

onoff onoff onoff

consider for a moment
the domestic situation of the duck:
the rough nip on the neck the bluster
the headshove under water
the fluster and wing flap indignant
the flash of an indigo armband

why did she fall for it this time?
the fat wibble wobble of a batty criss cross trundle
on the Main South Road, ten little Speights babies
left tweedling on the thick brown skin of the river

page 10

she didn't know / oh yes she did
oh no she didn't / too right she did
she knew damned well and she should have known better

onoff onoff onoff

someone's got to do something
oh yeah! she's made her bed and now she'll have to lie in it
you'd be far better off to whack her on the head
and put her out of her misery
just how much can you afford to invest in a duck anyway?

this is a classic film noir
one of us is the femme fatale
one is the chap's best friend
I just wish I could remember the ending!

I'm a gymnast on a narrow beam
I ride the slipstream of hot metal
it's wet, the road is slippery
people are in a hurry to get home
I'm a collapsing Z

I grab the duck

the twiggy cretonne feathers scissorslip
a bit I dig harder into her hot gut the way
I would if I was stuffing her before basting

I wrench her off the road

dumb demure dappling her neck wobbling
away from me her open beak her dribble

I hold up the duck like a trophy

page 11

WOMAN KILLED IN RUSH HOUR TRAFFIC
SHE WAS TAKING HER LIFE IN HER HANDS
SHE WAS HOLDING A DUCK IN HER HANDS
SHE WAS OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW BETTER

all the way home I crash the gears crying
and I rush into the house to get a blanket
and the others say what's wrong
and I say I've got a runover duck in the car
and I need a blanket and they all start to laugh
and make helpful suggestions like

it won't make any difference
I've got more to worry about than a bloody duck
it'll be dead by now anyway and there's no room
left in the garden to bury things, god almighty,
we've already got two dogs, three mice, five goldfish
and the rabbit buried there, what more do you want?

and they're right of course
when I go out to bring her in
she's dead

aue! aue! what will I do with you, my own aisling?

Queen of Spades in a brown tweed coat,
rock skimmer in scungy water, corky decoy,
topsy turvy lady of dibble and dabble, mud shoveller,
funny puddler, silly quack quack

(aisling: (Irish) angel)