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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