youse a prim chicken clucking at
coyotes rustling for casual
been that way since 6th grade

when you slapped one with pretty eyes

for getting too close to your face,

cuz didn’t he know you weren’t pretty


though i admit you have a glimmer of hope
for a rooster born without tail feathers
a rooster with a compassionate streak,

with flair for the mysterious and rough,

yet soft enough to show some feathers.


No No
i’m not comparing you to a
hen in a harlequin


but you can admit that sometimes
you like it rough


cuz maybe that’s the only way

someone could cut through the

barbed wire you strung
and knock aside the bayonets you’ve pointed

declaring you are nobody’s pot pie.


[Sometimes a hen itches for a fight]



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