C**k-a-doodle Don't

 

C**k-a-doodle Don’t   I'm counting the hours but won't count the days. My mind is conniving, and yours is malaise. You said that you love me; You said that you care. I called you my honey, Admired your flair. We moved in together; We shared paying rent. So why are your feathers A strange perfumed scent? This chick isn't having a rooster who prowls I'm plucking your feathers and cleaning your bowels. Tomorrow is Sunday When guests do arrive. The fried chicken buffet, With service at five, Shall feature fresh rooster And sweet smelling hen--- The one you chauffeured To some new love den. Oh, yes, I am counting my eggs 'cause they've hatched. The children are getting the best of this match. Four drumsticks, four hot wings, Four thighs and four breasts, Food cheap on my purse strings, A load off my chest. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Author's note:  This is meant to be tongue-in-cheek humor, and it is entirely muse.  As a kid on the farm, we always had fresh chicken for Sunday dinner. You may have guessed that I helped clean chickens, pluck and singe feathers.  The ax in the old tree stump by the hen house had its own notoriety. I'd have a very hard time doing this work today, but it is one of those life experiences I've never forgotten.   By Sharon Miller Bolander    © 2008 Peggy Paris (All rights reserved)

Reviews

[JohnL]

Great fun. I knew that from the title, never mind the piece. Comeuppance indeed - the middle section is my favourite. If I may make a small, rather petty comment. I would change 'guests do arrive to 'will' arrive and make it a simple future tense. A future is what poor C**k-a-doodle didn't have! Loved it.

[LSS]

Sharon, Thank you so much, I laughed at every other line. You are truly talented at rhymed poetry. To me it seems poetry isn't complete and lacks direction without rhyme. Will continue to read more to experience and be surprised more by your gifted work. Thanks.
Lar

[Nancy Lee Shrader]

Soooo Well put together. It was a song of sorts. I too had fried chicken every Sunday and I watched the chickens jump around after my grandfather cut off their heads. Really good piece. Made me chuckle a bit and brought back memories.


This chick isn't having a rooster who prowls
I'm plucking your feathers and cleaning your bowels.

Tomorrow is Sunday
When guests do arrive.
The fried chicken buffet,
With service at five,
Shall feature fresh rooster
And sweet smelling hen---
The one you chauffeured
To some new love den.


LOL