10 am:
‘Do you ever think about the fact your grandma probably has mad sex stories?’
We’re watching the ducks and wishing we’d brought bread – I tell you
‘For some reason, thinking about my grandma’s sex life –
never at the top of my to do list’
Your laugh (loud, unconcerned) undoes what meagre trust
the ducklings had in us and they
s c a t t e r
(‘I just mean we assume old people are sweet and boring’
‘Speak for yourself, I just assume they’re right wing’)
1:15 pm:
We stop to stroke rosemary, bright pink flowers
and a patch of small, soft leaves aptly named
Lamb’s Ear (you can’t get over this)
I haven’t thought about what I look like for the last 7 hours
And it feels really good plus – I don’t think either of us will take
a tree for granted ever again
3:07 pm:
You tell me that power is being able to laugh at what hurt you
I tell you I haven’t done nearly enough in the last 4 years
for it to have been an e n t i r e duck’s life
You say ducks are just apex birds
After all you can’t sext without
autocorrect proudly informing someone
you want to duck them
6:39 pm
I look down at my hands and whisper
I wonder why people keep telling me I’m brown
I’m clearly purple
I look up to tell you I think I just solved racism but
you’re not listening to me, you are chasing after
a pigeon
