Mari Ness - A duckie chain, or, what happens when I don't get enough sleep.

The tragic tale of a rubber duckie:

Oh, rubber duckie, so handsome, so sweet –
Who could foresee you would be a cat treat?

True, you were no normal rubber duckie,
But a duckie who made women go whee!
When with a touch your body went wiggly.

(To some, a quivering duckie may not
Sound like much: but trust me. When this duckie –
Wiggling, vibrating – was on the right spot,
And hot water was added: ecstasy.)

The duckie, vibrating, perched on the tub
Blind to the advance of a small grey cat
(Said cat, we must note, did not want a scrub)
Blind to the advance of a small grey cat
The duckie, vibrating, perched on the tub

Behind the grey cat, a second stalked
This one black and white, on silent paws.
The grey cat crouched as the duckie rocked,
And slowly, starkly, released sharp claws:
The duckie buzzed; the second cat squawked
And the grey cat simply twitched its jaws.

With a graceful leap and a yowl
The grey cat flew to the tub’s smooth edge
This I vouch for, not merely allege:
Her paws struck down a nearby towel,
bottles brimming with liquids foul
(Well, foul to cats) – yes, on that ledge
All objects fell beneath her prowl.

Bottles thumped, and bumped, and finally crashed --
The grey cat disdained it all with a mew
And gazing at some, raised her paw, and slashed
Bottles thumped, and bumped, and finally crashed
The other cat barely dodged the shampoo --
His tail flew up; to the sink he dashed
Bottles thumped, and bumped, and finally crashed
The grey cat disdained it all with a mew.

Instead, her paw hovered over the duck
which, unheeding its doom, vibrated on
unaware that it would soon be a pawn
and indifferent to the growing muck.
At the sink, the black cat cried an alarm
But the grey cat, giving a tiny yawn,
determined to prove she was full of pluck,
pounced on the duck -- and got instantly stuck.
(The second cat’s squeak meant – I think – “Moron!”)

Alas, her claws had pierced the rubber skin
and could not come out; she yowled and shook:
the duckie remained impaled on the hook
formed by her claws; no struggle could unpin
the duckie, though it continued to spin.
Not quite a dignified cat look, alas.
But the laws of cats kept any chagrin
from her graceful grey face. Instead, she took
a step backwards, then jumped into the brook
of spreading muck, making her spin, alas.

Soaps and shampoos swiftly covered her feet
(and the duckie). Liquids encircled her.
A good time for a strategic retreat.
Dragging the vibrating duckie along
The cat bounced away, hopping from of the room
The duckie’s head hit the floor with a bong
It could have been heard as a sign of doom.
The cat’s voice rose in a terrible song.
And yet she continued on her venture
Still stuck to the duck – it was quite a feat
And jumped on the bed, muck clinging to fur.

The muck swiftly spread all over the bed
As the duckie continued to vibrate
This small cat chewed on the poor duckie's head
It seemed the wiggling would never abate
As the duckie continued to vibrate
The cat's teeth sank into yellow rubber
It seemed the wiggling would never abate
Lesser beasts might have started to blubber.
The cat's teeth sank into yellow rubber
The muck swiftly spread all over the bed
Lesser beasts might have started to blubber:
This small cat chewed on the poor duckie's head.

The duckie was not shredded with dispatch
although yellow rubber flew everywhere:
On the bed, on grey fur, and through the air,
and the cat did not even stop to scratch.
Still, on her own she could not quite detach
All of the duckie's vibrating hardware.
The duckie was not shredded with dispatch,
although yellow rubber flew everywhere
But the second cat leapt into the match
And helped rip the duckie beyond repair,
Both quite intent on destroying their catch.
The duckie was not shredded with dispatch,
Although yellow rubber flew everywhere.

You might ask – where was the human in this?
Surely young cats who dream of fighting ducks
And find spreading muck the ultimate bliss,
And chew and put rubber in their stomachs
Should not be left to explore on their own –
Or allowed too near vibrating duckies.
Was I, perhaps, caught, dazzled by the phone,
Or perched in front of one of the TVs?
Allowing both cats unhindered access
to wiggling rubber ducky destruction?
I must tell the truth: I owe you no less:
I was held back by a slight obstruction.
Yes, I admit: I was on the toilet.
And that's all I care to say about it.


Victorian chain poems like the above were originally written as part of a courting ritual; lovers could send one poem per day, gradually increasing in complexity and length, or could exchange poems in an ongoing dialogue.

Aside from the change in subject matter, I also slightly changed the hexadine (poem seven); replaced the decalet, a horrifically constraining ten line poetic form I despise, with a ten line rondeau; and replaced poem 13, a Welsh chain, with a 13 line rondel, an accepted variant on the 14 line form, so I could keep the feel of end rhymes and repetitions. As echo/dance poems, neither the rondeau nor the rondel is particularly suited to a narrative format – but that added to the fun. If you're curious, I have two other Victorian chains here and here, both of which use the decalet, Welsh chain and the correct hexadine form.