Bath Salts

[alonso ramoran]

I had just drawn a bubble bath
when my pen was stolen
by a cocksure mallard.

He fled to a pond
with my tool in his beak,
and a quack threw some crumbs
and he opened his cheek.

I stripped to my briefs and leapt in the muck,
hoping to leave with my tool
and the duck.

He flew off again,
and I groped for my pen,
but all I could feel
was fish guck.

I straggled back home
and drew up a bath,
while planning a meal
of duck confit hash. Isn't confit a sort of meal prepped with duck? Seems redundant coming after the word "duck". Maybe try finding a word to replace confit (keep duck in this line, I'm enjoying it's final repetition in the poem as a meal) while keeping to the metrics of it.

I like how quirky this poem is! Now that I look at the title and consider the quirkiness of the subject matter, I can't help but think: Was the narrator tripping off bath salts? My critiques are actually scarce with this, though my only nitpick is listed above.