Chickenhawk by C

Posted: June 8, 2007 in Poems
He scatters shards in the yard
     like a farmer with his corn
to watch his chickens peck it up
     like every single morning.
You hear the cock crow thrice
     at the crack of dawn.
that means he’s rolling through the trailer park
     hittin’ the horn.
They call him a chickenhawk
     and he’s hunting chickens
to take back to the hen house
     where it’s finger licking.
His Boostphone ringtone
     is clucking away
and there’s a bleep-bleep/chirp-chirp
    on the two-way.
He flies so high
     to keep a view thats best
from County Line Road
     all the way to Leslie West.
He’s a woman’s man,
     no time to talk,
but what he hates most
     is another chickenhawk.

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