Columbia Lumbering giants with orange cracked skin you pulling my hand, eager to show me each new marvel as we press our faces to glass searching for Nimmo and Dori. Appropriate that you called me “Bastard Duckling” and I saw your future children trailing behind you as we scaled boulders beside the water. I wasn’t there, but that was no surprise. I almost wanted to take back my words when I saw your eyes, "I don’t believe in marriage.” There he goes again. Clam Face. No, I won’t be there, but I know you were born to make more ducklings. You will come alive when they are placed in your arms. It’s almost enough to make me want to be with you. But I was born to a lonely purpose. So give me your gifts while you can lover, and I will keep them, recycling them for days when there are no elephants, no Nimmo, no Bastard Ducklings, not even a Clam Face for me.