Gaffs attached to the stem
of a scaly yellow leg, the link
between them and mighty dinosaurs,
slash and sing to the jeers
of the crowd.
They’re loud. They think
they’ve got this domestication down
but they forget where roosters get
their legs from. The blade there almost
remakes them into
a raptor,
the dewclaw clacking against the ground
as the birds stalk around,
claws, beak and plume
used for the entertainment of humans.
Their feathers only lend themselves
to a rudimentary flight,
and yet this primitive flurry
should make us bow and scurry
because birds
claimed the earth
far before we were alive.