Do you ever just, you know, stop and stare at a duck in the park and then take out your phone and start writing about the duck, thinking about what it would be like to text or talk to a duck, and then you start thinking and writing as if you were a duck—no, as if you were this duck (quack) and you had that little feather tuft at the back of your head that some duck breeds have (usually white, not mallards) and because you are now this duck (quack) you cannot google yourself and find out what kind of duck you are because, seriously, a duck does not give a fuck about what kind of duck they are. So you as a human—you were supposed to be walking, getting some exercise, but before you know it, you are stopping, staring, writing, texting, imagining—and now becoming a duck who sure does not need to fill its life with words (quack) or labels or even little metal ID bracelets that scientists use to track special ducks like you with feather tufts.

this
this duck
becoming
words