Chickens

“Birds of a feather flock together,”

But chickens are a different brood.

The garrulous chicks form their own cliques

And gossip over their food.

Squawking away in a cacophonous way

Complaining their pitiful ballads

They shout and snicker, bite and bicker

And cluck moodily over their salads.

My own flock are well-led by a cockerel,

Chanticleer, and Sonya the drake.

And thirteen hens who pretend to be friends

For mine and the bachelors’ sake.

But behind those smirks, animosity lurks

For they each want the men for their own.

When I’m out walking I hear them squawking

To get Chanticleer and Sonya alone.

All chickens, I know, always argue so,

But they aren’t the only quarrelsome being.

You’d find a demure, docile bird

Before you find two people agreeing.

-L. Smith