this is not a metaphor:
last winter, I purchased, thawed,
marinated, cooked, and ate a duck with my family—not
Christmas, but not not Christmas either. that should not shock you.

I called myself vegan the whole time.
that should not shock you.
I like to think the duck had a name—maybe not a duck
name, however unpronounceable, but a given name,

from the farm, or ranch, or whatever you call a duckery.
it was Fatima, Gene, or August. a thin duck with friends,
the duck that your mother warned you about, a duck that knew

people, at least a guy, maybe a guy who knows a guy.
a duck going places. a duck ascendant from humble
beginnings. a real duck’s duck. a duck with a purpose-driven

life. the duck everyduck wants to be.
that should not shock you.
it was the first time I’d ever cooked a duck; the first time
my daughter had eaten one—she could not reconcile it

with the thing we taught her says quack. she thought it was a bit
dry.
it was.
I’d have lost my Master Chef apron with it.

it’s a very deliberate thing: cooking a raw duck.
you can’t pop it in the microwave or fire-and-forget
it in the oven.
you need to be there.

you need to score the skin with a knife to render the fat
and get that great balance of crispy outside and moist meat.

you need to flip and baste it every hour. cooking it must
become your morning meditation. that should not shock you.

hopefully this duck with no name was studying to get
into my oven—I’ll call it Jordan for now.
the duck,

aka Vivian (her friends call her Viv), will become
your confidant. Tyler was on the crispy side—though not

without moisture. it’s easy to cook duck and end up with
oily flesh that slides off the carcass like a blubbery stew.

for the better part of a day, I focused my supposed
vegan energies into preparing Naomi for
our consumption. that should not shock you.
do not name your duck.

when I bought Robbie, she was a stretched out frozen solid
icy club, a battering ram at six dollars per pound.

we had some Perry leftover. none of us ate any.
the last of Bianca went into the waste bin or down
the drain into the garden.