Kate Let A Duck Freeze To Death Poem by John W. McEwers

Somewhere in the icy teeth of February
back when we still shared each other's warmth
Kate and I happened across a duck, on a short hike
to the cigarette shop, crouched alone in the center
of a half-frozen pond.

The duck was motionless and dark, the despair
of a shipwreck, the hateful stillness
of an unappreciative lover.

I told her we should rescue the duck,
and my compassion surprised her,
somehow insulted her, and she walked faster
shaking her head.
I don't know why I said it now,
since I did not know this particular duck
and it was clearly made of wood.

The walk back from the cigarette shop
was colder and lonelier than February could dream.
We followed an alternate path home,
and I swear, in the echo of Kate's footsteps
I heard the heartbeat of a duck,
its pace slowing, sadly softening as we neared our apartment
until it died at our doormat,
and Kate stomped her boots,
and the snow and ice
just wouldn't fall off.