To the Jeep Family,

Bought my first Jeep on a Friday in March of 2020. One week later, I put a red bin into the back of that silver new Wrangler. An announcement blared. Admin promised a return.

I blinked.

Opened my eyes stuck in [Insert State].

True story: one sick-seared evening in [Insert State] longing clawed raw at my skin. I stepped out to lean reprieve upon my Jeep. But, tucked into the door handle, a little duck with hair like Walt Whitman squeaked. You know, Walt Whitman. The old poet, song of myself. Giant beard.

“Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged; Missing me one place, search another; I stop somewhere, waiting for you.“

Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

I picked up the yellow rubber duck and for the first time since being stuck,

I felt safe.

Then I discovered our secret community; a cohort, an “off-road society” of sorts. I even know our private hand signal.

So in honor of a duck, my Jeep, and bad poetry, I’ve released my own birds and verse to the world (aka “birdshit” poetry. I ain’t Walt Whitman).

Call it an experiment. Or call it a hunt. Where do my ducks lead and where do my ducks go?

If you happen to capture one of these lucky ducks, comment below.

One request: Don’t hold my bird hostage. As for the “birdshit” poetry, do what you want. Hashtag-post-tweet it. Or don’t. I won’t know. I’m analog. “Wire-Cut.” [IYKYK].

For sport, see all birdshit verse insta-preserved.

Jeep family O-O only.

Formal invitation: [request follow. DM 🐤🐤✌️].

love,
your fellow rider

PS. Bounty — yes, real monetary reward — exists for whomever can fill the blank of the [Insert State] I opened my eyes stuck in.

Email Guesses.