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I am hunting mallards in a dream.
A still life by the river
is abandoned by my friend Jeff.
A well mannered black man
with a voice of precious stone
is recounting Jeff ’s youthful discretions
to a prospective employer.
Jeff begs him to stop.
Arrows fall from above
landing in the sand on either side
of a brilliant mallard.
I search but can not find their source.
More arrows.
The drake is heading toward me.
Likewise the arrows.
I start to run.
The drake cries of conspiracy.
At the display case
the mallards are scrambling
out of the forest.
A mechanical duck of cartoonish
dimension quacks a monotony
and bears a clock built into its body.
I think it announces the change
of seasons. But I feel like it might
explode!
I discover a fruited chocolate
by the freezer and ask the man
with the shotguns about the dogs.
He has misiplaced a special one,
leveling his shotguns all the while.
I find his dog for him.
A beautiful breed of big dog.
With a coat of indigo blue
and almond shaped eyes of yellow.
- Michael R. Jones