Little Duck Man

You want to talk to me, why?

You suspect I can speak to you

When you want to slit my throat

I can see it in your eye

It’s your aura I guess.

You sit next me

as some sort of insult presume

I can’t pinpoint why you speak

Stop insulting me

You hate my guts and yet you speak

I talk back

Nothing sounds right

Nothing is right, you hate me.