The Duck

I once met a duck,
I was driving a barge,
He wouldn’t move over,
Started giving it large,
Saying things like
“you don’t even know you’re born”
I had to shout at him,
Barges don’t have horns,
It was a strange situation,
Quite hard to guage,
A talking duck
Suffering from canal rage,
So in the end
I just ran him down,
He floated up behind,
I think he’d drowned,
I felt a bit bad,
So at the end of my journey
I bought a book
on taxidermy,
I cut him open,
Took out his insides,
Put him on a nice stand,
And gave him glass eyes,
And now the duck
Sits on my mantelpiece,
With a couple of badgers
And a gaggle of geese
And a number of squirrels
And a fox and a cat
And a sheep and a dog,
I just realised that
I may have actually
Got a bit carried away,
But I ran them all down
So they were dead anyway,
If you want to blame someone
For these newly departed,
Blame that damn duck,
He’s how it all started.