I've been checking Patsy's daily posts about chickens (love those new baby chick pics, by the way) and feeling woefully inadequate in the poultry department. Lo and behold, I found this poem, written waaaaay back in my corporate days. I realize Patsy's chickens are much nicer than the one I wrote about, but this is pretty much all that's in my chicken repertoire:
The banty rooster puffs his chest
in silk tweed suit or feathered breast,
declaring he’s the very best
to anyone who’ll hear him.
In barnyard or in boardroom, he
and clucks and crows incessantly
that others should revere him.
He struts and flaps his wings a bit
to compensate for lack of wit
and stirs up dust and chickenshit;
the stench still lingers near him.