An Online Literary Journal for Poetry and Flash

Tag: humankind

Duck Duck Goose

Nonfiction by Alice Lowe


Sociability—inclined by nature to companionship with others of the same species


1.     

Singular in her snowy splendor, the white goose floated majestically in the Balboa Park lily pond amid a raft of small mallard ducks, the males’ iridescent green heads, the females stippled brown. A groundskeeper told me, “She appeared one day and hasn’t left.” Was she lost, separated from her flock? Or, maybe, a loner within her own species, she chose this idyllic spot.

Geese and ducks are social animals, happiest in groups, gaggles of geese, rafts of ducks. Marine turtles, blue whales, snow leopards, polar bears, jaguars, orangutans, giant pandas, and platypuses are instinctively solitary. Compared to owls, sloths, deer, octopi, wolves, beavers, meerkats, and house cats (mine included), which are considered introverts.

2.        

The cartoon shows a passel of partying possums, smiling faces and wine glasses in hand. One is splayed out on the floor, face up. A bystander says to another: “He’s fine; he just plays dead when he’s had enough socializing.” I send the cartoon to a few friends, with the notation, “This is me.” Except I don’t play dead—I disappear.

Humans are social animals, though to varying degrees. Sociability is a measure of how much interaction with others a person needs. Social isolation can lead to adverse health consequences, as was seen during the Covid pandemic, but most of us have regular interaction with others at work or home or out and about. I’m an introvert but not a recluse. I like people, but I prefer them one to one, in small doses. Being coupled with a kindred spirit, my social needs are satisfied without leaving the house.

3.        

One day, months later, as my goose glides around the pond, her mirror image reflected by the water, I suddenly question her identity. Back home I study photographs—geese and ducks, white geese and white ducks, side by side. The shape of the head, the curve of the bill, the length of the neck. Now it’s obvious—she’s a Pekin duck. Not quite the outsider I’d thought, she’s not alone or lonely. I suspect she’s like me, as sociable as she wants or needs to be.


Alice Lowe’s flash nonfiction was published in September 2022 in The Bluebird Word, and also this past year in Change Seven, Drunk Monkeys, Midway, Eclectica, Eat Darling Eat, Fauxmoir, Idle Ink, Potato Soup, and Dorothy Parker’s Ashes. Alice writes about life, literature, food and family in San Diego, California, posted at www.aliceloweblogs.wordpress.com.

The House

Poetry by G. Milton

The house, like my childhood, abandoned.
Withered, worn, and saddened.
The broken door hangs by its rusty hinges.
Once mighty, now only cringes.

The windows, like my dreams, shattered.
Shiny shards of glass tossed and scattered.
The ragged steps creak and sway
buckling under the stress of another torrid day.

The roof, like my life, dilapidated and leaking.
Much like the tears I’m constantly weeping.
The paint just peels and fades away.
Once vibrant, now, only a somber gray.

The foundation, like my soul, buckled and cracked.
Trembling like a kitten being attacked.
Once strong, stubborn, and sturdy.
Now, broken, weakened, and dirty.

The house, like me, has been through it all.
Beaten, battered, ready to fall.
Although we dread the next inevitable storm,
inside us both, it is still inviting and warm.


G. Milton is a part time writer and full-time grandparent.

Cut and Carry

Poetry by Colleen Wells

A few tiny ants milling about the circle of trust, a round tapestry on the floor,
   set with candles, crystals, sage and yellow daffodils.
It’s a focal point for the writing circle whose facilitators
   I overheard plotting the insects’ demise.
The ants are here through no fault of their own,
   innocent stowaways who were just
enjoying a taste of spring
   in a bunch of plucked daffodils
brought here through no fault of whoever brought in the flowers.
   An accident, soon to be a deadly mistake.

How are we different from the tiny ant
   when it comes to fate?
How are we different from a speck of pollen
   that moves through the wind to parts unknown,
creating flowers for you and I to cut down and carry in?


Colleen Wells writes poetry and nonfiction. Her work has appeared in Gyroscope Review, Ravensperch, and The Potomac Review among other publications. Her chapbook Animal Magnetism was published in May 2022. She works in mental health and is also a consumer of mental health services.

The Swinger

Poetry by Carl Hubrick

Although traditions have we many
and technical skills beyond compare,
despite our thoughts and ideas aplenty
stored in computers everywhere,
’tis best at times to just remember,
and to ourselves gently remind,
that following us close in evolution
swings the chimpanzee with his
bare behind.


Carl Hubrick has a Bachelor’s in History and English and post-graduate diplomas in teaching, including teaching the Deaf. He first worked in the television industry as a director and later in teaching. His teenage novel Target for Terror (2008) is still in use in many New Zealand schools today.

© 2024 The Bluebird Word

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑