My ducks are not in a row.
They are scattered,
And one is drunk off its ass.
The disarray is not of my choosing.
It imposed itself on my rowless ducks.
But I have made no effort
To make sense of the chaos.
The lie where they have fallen,
And I am content to leave them there.
For now.
The time will come
Where I will exert order again.
But that time is not now.
It may be tonight,
Or tomorrow,
Or a time in the distant future.
I don’t know for certain.
I am not a seer.
But these are my ducks,
And they are not in a row.
