Ducks are gnarled oak in latex,

for the rubber hides the fear the oak ducks grabbed

under snapping black and groaning knots

Oh, to gaze wooded wings sink beneath mirk

and the sweetness of duckbills in a gator’s maw

Smells to high Heavens next week

They trill at me like a honey ḥallah’s rough digestion

that I once bought from Karmel Bakery

I’ll never donate to Tayyib again;

what a tasteless scr*te

But he does have good deals and a work ethic

He lived in my basement a spur ago and before

that commensalistic symbiote became parasitic

Two absolute dinguses packed into a dummkopf supreme

All those latex birds flew away when he packed up,

I suppose

“He’s going places with that book of his about orchestrator software” 

Auntie says, as if that makes up for

the revolting ḥallah of audacity

I’d twinkle my soft ducks on Tayyib

to watch their force crumple him  

Then I’d hug my brother as

oblivion unwinds at its seams

When I grow old, I know I’ll watch those

bird-oak-rubber things

into avuncular boughing infinity

You see, when your time is running out

and the clock is breaking

and your life is unfinished,

have a relaxing anxiety attack

Carpe diem

That looped rope eagerly hangs

like that gator’s maw,

and soon I’ll see my birds

where I can smell them