Monday, October 17, 2011

Reality Check


MAGPIE TALES
provided the prompt

REALITY CHECK

Little ducks upon a pond
Are things of which we're very fond.
'Look at their little paddling feet!
Look at the ducklings! Oh, how sweet!
See each gorgeous burnished feather!
See how they  swim along together!'
It's only when they're on a rack
That we see them as a human snack.
We see them dangling side by side,
Merely protein exemplified!*
We look at them and lick our lips,
Fancying a plate of duck and chips.
Thoughts of 'ponds' are cast away
As we become predators, ducks prey.
Take a look at slices of ham,
Bacon or beef or veal or lamb.....
When they sit upon a plate
In their ultimate gravied state,
They seem removed from agony
As far away as they can be.
They seem inanimate, unfeeling,
Not victims of our double-dealing.
Animals are 'cute' and 'sweet'?
Oh no, they're just our human meat.
But when we see them in a line,
Prepared for a meal (no doubt with wine),
There is a certain reality shape
That our dulled senses can't escape.
'It was ever so' we say
And simply turn the other way.
*
* Blogger FTSE has asked for an amended line;
'Waiting to be stewed or fried'.
(I charge for this sort of service!)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------


MEMORY LOSS!

Beyond the fence in the background lies the sea.
We came up here to have a cup of tea,
And gaze out over the ocean, the Pacific,
Because the view is unfailingly terrific.
Suddenly I spied a marble slab nearby.
This was the first time it had ever caught my eye.
On reading it I saw the dedication;
'Someone' had been a public inspiration.
It seems this 'Someone' aided exploration!
The name was very Polish, hard to read;
Jot it down? I didn't feel the need,
Because my shot, I knew, would give the name
And when I wrote this rhyme, I'd add the same.
Now look at the result! The name's not there!
It's up there in the blue-sky bit somewhere!
So Mr 'Someone' I apologise!
Your name is not, it seems, for Bloggers' eyes!
*

13 comments:

Kay L. Davies said...

I think I've only eaten duck two or three times in my entire life, so the photo prompt didn't make me hungry. I lived across the street from a duck pond for a few years, and they used to make a lot of noise in my yard early in the morning. I don't know how many times I'd run outside in my pyjamas, grabbing a stick and yelling "I'm gonna make duck soup!"
My neighbors thought I was highly entertaining. They didn't know I don't do mornings. In the afternoon, I was very fond of the ducks and ducklings.

Kay, Alberta, Canada
An Unfittie’s Guide to Adventurous Travel

christopher said...

I have the same sentiment about seeing too much reality in my predatory habits.

I recall duck and goose needing lots of drainage because there is lots of fat. I have not eaten duck that often and would not deliberately choose it just because there are always other things on menus that I lean toward, not because I dislike duck.

As for your photo...tsk.

Jinksy said...

But is our goose is cooked now?!

Martin said...

Thanks for the reality check.

Helen said...

Both poems are stellar ... I tasted duck once - and only once!

Doctor FTSE said...

Fluid rhythm and rhymes as we have come to expect. But after "side by side" I was waiting for/expecting
" . . . fried" Would you perhaps rejig that line? Just for me?

Tumblewords: said...

Humans are a strange breed. :)

Dave King said...

I wonder what it feels like to be a duck!

Intelliblog said...

Yes indeed, your winsome poem illustrates that curious dichotomy that we humans have no trouble accommodating in our minds and which is exemplified by the Samuel Butler quote that I start my post with!

Maxwell Mead Williams Robinson Barry said...

wow, thoughtful.

Maxwell Mead Williams Robinson Barry said...

wow, thoughtful.

Trellissimo said...

Duck and chips? Really?!

Arnab Majumdar said...

I loved the line "Merely protein exemplified!" It's not something you see or hear or read about often... the idea behind the line, that is :P hehe

Cheers,
Arnab Majumdar on SribbleFest.com