The Nibbling of a Thousand Ducks

The nibbling of a thousand ducks
is a single peck -
a paper clip coming free and falling to the floor,
hemline catching in the chair, papers
scattering,
as I move to pick it up.

The nibbling of a thousand ducks
is the anxiety of a daughter, insistent in her
perfectionism, the temper
flying
crying
dying
wondering if the lying
will stop.

The nibbling of a thousand ducks
is a single peck -
the check gone astray in the mail,
returned shredded, bill
overdue.

The nibbling of a thousand ducks
is the procrastination of a partner, the pursuit of
the ideal an enemy of good enough, the thief of
hospitality
practicality
reality
trapped in the prosaic banality
of logistics

The nibbling of a thousand ducks
is a single peck -
the missing hairbrush, the broken
umbrella.

The nibbling of a thousand ducks
is the boiling of a frog from cold to 100°
Celsius or 212° Fahrenheit if you prefer,
seeping through all the pores, insidious,
unrealized,
until
overload
download
explode.
Wish I was a toad
instead of a frog.