Monday, April 16, 2018

Prelude to a Fight

Said the white rooster 
to the red
“Don’t you tire 
of this pecking? 
Our beaks are sharp
our necks strong and flexed,
are we meant
to serve 
a higher order?”

And the red replied,
“Impertinence!
Bury your claws on 
someone’s throat.
To perish with 
bloodied combs,
no reason 
can be as great.

And the white
turned away,
flapped, jumped
and crowed in 
memory of a love, 
who laid,
with ketchup 
by her side.


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