The ducks, at the pond, they are, almost impossibly, still wild.

Plus, out there, there are almost never any exogenous preta around.

Which is why I pick my way there, skirting around any signs that say no trespassing.

And why I am tormented by these scary dreams of going there to sleep a night, and heal.

***

Why do they fly in alarm any time I come within a hundred yards?

Because their wildness makes them very smart.

Just as my domestication makes me very dangerous.

***

… there are almost never any preta around.

Except the ones I brought along, inside me.

Yes it’s true, that the very liquid they swim in is something called Reclaimed Wastewater.

But that is also true of you and me, and

yet they are wild

and you and I are domesticated, enslaved and oh so very hungry

ghosts.

***

Yes, I’m always right, and no, it does me know good?

Just as I am Superior to the birds, with all this excess cranial capacity and alleged cleverness, techno and otherwise, for sure, and that’s nothing but a very mixed and iffy blessing.

I have so much to learn from them

about being an animal

wild and free once more.