Martin H. Levinson Verse-Virtual 2016 October

October 2016

I write poetry because it helps me make sense of the world around and inside me. It piques my interest in the past and prods me to think more about the present and the future. I find the act of writing poetry joyful and self-reinforcing, even when the content of my poems is about sad or traumatic events. Please visit my website: martinlevinson.com.

If They Quack Like Racists They’re Not Ducks

A white duck would never throw
a black duck against a pier and
cuff that duck because one of
its tail feathers was missing and

the ebony flyer’s quacks had
gotten a little too foul for the
paler creature’s sensibility.

And a black duck would never
off a white one for being
part of a uniformed brace that
contains a bunch critters who

want to keep dark ducks down
and make it difficult for those
with swarthy pigmentation
to fly beside the flock.

If they did such awful things
their fellow paddlers might
label them a bunch of
stinking, rotten people

not fit for the company of
web-footed, broad-billed divers
whose waterfowl family, Anatidae,
includes both swans and geese.

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