February 20, 2015 by T. Gregory Argall
Stanley watched the bird and the bird watched Stan.
It was a classic stand off between avian and man.
He tried and he tried; he tried to get by
But the goose blocked his way, left, right, low, high.
Wings spread wide, the bird squawked aloud.
Staring each other down, they were drawing a crowd.
People whispered and murmured, pointing and gawking
Stanley asked the bird, “Why?” but the goose wasn’t talking.
It just stood its ground, this fierce fowl beast
Giving Stanley no quarter, no, not in the least.
Stan had to get to a meeting, one to make his career,
And this confounded goose was a big pain in the rear.
“Damn, I’m going to be late,” Stanley cried in dismay.
“HONK,” honked the goose, meaning, “I can do this all day.”
Stan hatched a plan and held the goose in his sight.
He kicked dirt in its eyes, feigned left, dodged right.
He ran wide ’round the bird, he ran for his life.
He almost made it, too, but then the goose pulled a knife.
The crowd gasped in shock, this wasn’t the norm.
In a man/nature showdown, this was really bad form.
“Someone report him,” they murmured, “Call in the ref.”
But there was naught to be done, there was no option lef…t.
“This goose poop just got real,” thought Stan; it was a fight for survival;
He knew he could show no mercy to his armed, feathered rival.
Stanley pulled a knife of his own, with a snarl and a frown.
Like making a warm winter coat, he would put this goose down.
Screaming, “You damned geese, this is the third time this week!”
Stanley tried to punch the bird in the mouth, in the bill, in the beak.
Then bursting from the crowd, Stan’s wife cried for her man.
“Stanley! Stanley!” she cried. “Stanley! Stanley! Stan! Stan!”
“Stan?” honked the goose. “Your name’s Stanley? Not Brad?
I thought you were someone else,” shrugged the bird. “Sorry. My bad.”
Stan watched the bird toddle off, and the truth hit him fully;
No matter where you go, every goose is a bully.
Try to be nice to each other.