Learning Lines On The Lawn

He looks at me,
Intently,
Eyes to the side of his head that is green,
As I sit on the deck of McKinnon lawn at the uni,
Wondering if I should buy a coffee and Subway,
I have finished the first part of filming for today,
Sitting here with a script of words I have to say,
The words written down are what makes up Glyn's S.I.P play,
QUACK
He asserts his authority,
Reminds me, it is his territory,
I don't even know his history,
But he has a vendetta against me,
I'm sitting alone, isolated,
Cornered, alienated,
Hope of escape, eradicated,
The look in his eyes, pure hatred,
QUACK
I try to move, but I am threatened, still,
As he moves in for the kill,
As he attempts to get his fill,
As he knows he can do whatever he will,
He is the heel and I am the face,
As he invaded my personal space,
And he is coming towards me at a surprising pace,
I get up and evade as quickly as Usain in a race,
QUACK
It is over, for now, this frightening duck ordeal,
I somehow got away, it took nerves of steel,
I'm wondering if any of what just happened is real,
Hoping he didn't think that I was his meal,
I'm walking back, alive, to tell the tale,
Of how I was harassed by an aggressive duck, who was male,
Despite my size advantage, my colleagues describe me as a fail,
Which begs the question, how would I do against a snail?
QUACK

by Harrison Bishop

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