Cluckin' Morons
*A poem I scribbled into a journal page concerning my foolish flock.
I watch them constantly,
their idiot eyes staring back
looking for scratch I've already tossed,
only interested when the other hen
has already half-swallowed.
Their lizard brain producing
dinosaur sounds as they
rake their feet among the
grains to find more identical kernels.
On I stare, baffled by stupidity.
A flock of cluckin' morons
gazing with ancient-yellow eyes
following me.
Then I realize,
I am their leader,
their father,
their caretaker;
I look again as they run about;
I love my feathered fools.
