Cooked Goose
The large Canada goose
runs wildly on the loose, head down,
quickly covering ground. I run.
My hair becomes undone. “Hiss,hiss!”
The goose makes noise like this. I scream.
And leap just like a dream, but land
in a place so unplanned, the pond.
Of mud I am not fond. I sink.
My goose is cooked, I think.
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