‘Now I lie, my down to keep,’
thinks the gander, feeling cheap
but knowing that his goose is cooked
should Eddie Bauer get him booked,
‘I’m worth more,’ he says aloud.
‘You’d best keep me (I’m not proud)
as a watchdog, on the hoof,
for my down’s not waterproof.’

The man before him, not his Maker
but perhaps his undertaker,
hasn’t known a goose to talk
though he shares the gander’s walk,
both being waddlers on their flat
no-arched waders that go splat
when they hear the lunch bell ringing
like their hearts do to girls’ singing.

‘If I pluck you,’ says the man
‘and your mates, I’ll get a grand
or so they told me at the store.
They promised they’d let me explore
their catalogue, and I could buy
toys, so it’s right you die.’
This talking gives Goose time to soar.
He flies off laughing, ‘Never more.’