seven cockerels combed and plumed –
wattled bright in morning sun
– except for one
as others strut this one demurs apart
and shy suspiciously – I wonder why
perhaps a pullet in disguise – picked by
youthful size and culled to rear apart
it’s time to make amends and right
the wrong before the hen asserts
(or egg is laid) she’ll be removed, join
laying hens beyond the cockerel’s run –
back where we raised the brood
we’ll be repaid a thousand times if
she reverts to stable ways; her peers
reduced to six are barely phased
© 9 September 2008, I. D. Carswell
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