Stuffed Duck On Trial

Written by alarminglytired

They sat me on the witness stand, 
a stitched-up beak, a cotton chest. 
A white duck held in trembling hand— 
the one on whom they blamed the mess. 

“You cracked the glass, you tore the thread, 
you watched the paintings lose their hue.” 
I blinked with eyes of black instead, 
too soft to fight, too small for truth. 

They said I ruined all they made, 
that I had danced through ash and flame. 
But I just lay there, gently frayed, 
a toy too still to earn the shame. 

They called me selfish, cold, untrue, 
a monster in a feathered skin. 
But I was made to comfort you— 
not wear the weight of all your sin. 

If this is what they want to hear,
then let them stitch the tale in tight.
Three years clean, but now I fear
they’d rather see me lose the fight.

If this is what they need to say—
that I’m the one who broke it all—
then let them throw my name away,
and watch me shrink, and watch me fall. 

I had a marvelous time, they claim,
committing crimes I never knew.
Now I’m the one who wears the shame—
a white duck, judged and blamed by you.