His shorts of extroverted red, and yellow boots, were prized.
His gloves of white were cleaned at night, much like his feathered back.
His Big Black Book and iconic look brought cheers from zealous eyes.
Daffy Mouse was not as grouse, with a back covered in hair.
He'd hardly hear the jokes and jeers of the ducks or mice held dear.
He loved the Book and hoped to look more like the part someday.
He'd much more lack, and was much less fat, and his heart was warm, not grey.
Now Mickey Duck was in a park, when Daffy Mouse nearby
struck a talk and pricked his ears, and Mickey gawked—unshy.
He gave a quack at Daffy Mouse, who hustled further near.
The two became a sparring pair that day in Franklin Square.
Unlikely friends, they'd make amends for Pente and Presbytery ways.
Mickey spoke The Way, and hope conveyed like prophets often say.
Visions grand, they'd travel land in a culture turning ears.
They couldn't command the audience planned, as love appeared at bay.
Mickey Luck and Daisy Duck wed as punk-rock teens.
Daffy Mouse, as second to spouse, cross-married Clarabelle fiend.
Chicks and pups brought many clucks, as kids close-knitted their cliques.
Daffy Mouse opened house, and Huey learned duck tricks.
Mickey did deeds with the Book of Great Heeds, but Daffy could not follow suit.
He sowed big seeds, but they sprouted as weeds, as Clarabelle pouted a moot.
And, being a lout of passionate tout, he tried as he could to appease.
But Daisy, uneased via Mickey unpleased, told Daffy to question his boots.
So, being a dag, he darted mad—jumping to shrink and advice.
Yet, giving his all, as a mouse with a call, Clarabelle would not entice.
And daft he might be, Daffy wouldn't let be, but wanted to stay by her side.
Yet Mickey stepped in without even a grin, and bade Daffy to pay the price.
Thus came the day that Daffy Mouse strayed, with buckles under pressures a-loose.
And, sent then away, Daffy departed the fray as a shepherd being chased by a goose.
To a halfway house, Clarabelle put her mouse, having colluded with the French.
There Daffy read of the ousting of mice, in the Book and in Marcel Proust.
Now Daffy went deep, and tried he might keep his lambkins from tailless rambling.
But Daisy indeed reaped seeds of deceit, that already kept Clara from ambling.
She meddled with words among all of the herd, and mothered their minds astray.
And spoke as she did to ducks and the pups, that Daffy should not be scrambling.
When two years had past, Daffy asked one last pass—if he Clara would have and would hold.
In scorn, Clarabelle, cold, as she mocked this as old, and Daffy as mad as pink mould.
Now that he knew her abandonment shoo, he was deserted and loosed to the wild.
Unbounded, his tears and the twenty-odd years—divorce was finally told.
Like a prison release, Daffy scampered to please, straightway by the hole of one Rabbit.
Minerva, a tease, she used him with ease, and moved on as fast as her habit.
Clarabelle spat, but her Reverend used the bat to rebuke the Mouse as a dick.
Dr. Ludwig Von Drake and the Shepheard both spake to Daffy as if he was a bandit.
Yet Daffy held dear his promises ere he tended his pups without pests.
A bear thrice now robbed, he gathered with Hobbes his cubs in a house to be nest.
Like Calvin would do, Huey refused his hot stew, though Daffy gave all he had made.
Huey quoted his Mum, for Clarabelle's thumb was still on Daffy's unrest.
And the very next day, when the Mouse was away taxiing his Bella about,
Daisy came to the home, and Huey unalone took him while Daffy was out.
In little more time, she texted a line, interrogating Daffy as Dad.
He couldn't ignore, so went to her door, and Huey came out without clout.
But when he then did, Daisy raised her big lid, with Mickey idly by.
She gaped a forked tongue, and pulled out a gun, and shot off a deadly lie.
And, reversing then out, with Huey not stout, Daffy waved them both a goodbye.
Before reaching the farm, Daisy raised an alarm with a call to the homeland spies.
This was a farce, and even Clarabelle far once came to her mice to now console.
Yet concerning more still, and bizarre to the hilt, was what was about to unfold.
Daffy the Mouse, now whelmed and propelled by a bell of swelling missed calls.
Seeking wise counsel and eating a mouthful, there arrived an ominous hold.
But, taking a breath and trying to rest, there arrived now by email a pounce.
Daffy, a tad panicked and feeling a bit manic, could nor read—not even an ounce.
Formals from Mickey, needed forming committee—so Daffy forwarded it for advice.
The counsel received gave Daffy reprieve, and it warmed him not even announce.
Concerned he had learned, Daffy yearned for a truce—but for now, he gave Ducks abeyance.
He took up his share in this daymare of care, to ameliorate whatever made sense.
Like Bo-Peep from sleep, he took up his crook—determined for pups to mind them.
The Book they all read said the wise would be fed on overlooking offence.
Then, thawed from freeze and loving a squeeze, Daffy bumped into Selena Squirrel.
A companion with tweens, she seemed marriage means, and was hungry with Daffy to settle.
Desperate for peeps, like Job suffering leaks, Daffy needed to Selena resorted.
Like a pigeon, a pair, they courted with care amid all their nightmares of meddle.
It happened one day, as Daffy did stray, into his fellow hardby.
He fellowship kept, before Clarabelle left him out on his own to comply.
The Pastor resigned, his visit poor timed—Rev Frollo had taken the post.
Before the whole throng, in the middle of song, he evicted the Mouse awry.
Daffy, distraught, to appeal the contort, sent to Session to plead for reason.
Needless dismay, the elders said nay, with ex-communication.
Not clerk nor classis, not reformation glasses, would dissuade the Lynchmob stampede.
Without concede or reprieve, this Summerleas stede was Sardis from Revelation.
Now Daffy, not blind to the unholy kind of coercion and social violence,
was now more grieved—a second letter received from Mickey breaking his silence.
Again Daffy conceived the danger indeed, and sent for vetting to screen.
His council, aghast, counselled him not to give pass, nor to open up correspondence.
Yet, innocently out publically, Daffy hoped about courteous etiquette.
He'd wave or smile and greet in the isle when Mickey at Roads preached eloquent.
The Duck and the Mouse, on one happy chance, shook hands as Daffy gave thanks.
Yet later withdrawn, Mickey sent more to mourn, unless Daffy would answer his elephant.
So with PTSD, Daffy opened a plea to his Shepheard Across the Roads.
Who gave his best Ducks, who—seeing it sucks—helped Daffy regain repose.
With Selena’s great aid, who squirrelled away to open and read the writ,
Daffy began a great labour in earn'st—without favour—to replying Mickey with a hose.
Two letters he wrote, to Mickey's email smotes, with carbon from the shrink and a quote.
Handwritten, contrite, in the genre of light from Philemon—to clear the throat.
Daffy did not expect the day of express, and the arrival in their letterbox.
A drawbridge came down, and the duck with the frown rode darkhorse across the moat.
Clad with more mail, Mickey spotted all pail, served notice at Daffy's blue door.
A declaration sore, and a demand to now gnaw, with a threat attached to the law.
So shocking the shock, that Daffy forgot his puppy, asoak in the shower.
The water went cold, before Daffy behold poor Bono asleep with no snore.
Huey, distraught and caught in the tort of Daffy—delirious with grief—
wept as they prayed and strayed out of mind, as they lay without comic relief.
This tale of a duck whose mail had hailed the ending of friendship, not strife,
and the death of their dog, whose tail had trailed not with luck but with tragedy and life.
