Meering Their Fate
Uncle said you can fed
the chickens and then
later you can choose
which one we have for
dinner tomorrow and he
went off to work someplace
leaving you to feed and fret
over which of the noisy hens
would meet their end by
Uncle’s hand and end up
as the Sunday roast sitting
among potatoes and parsnips
as each of the family widened
their eyes and licked their lips.
You walked up and down the
wire staring at each hen in turn
wondering which one deserved
to live or die but they all had that
chicken look that unconcerned air
of being and walking each one
settled on the next mouth feed
the next bite and so you wandered
off not knowing which hen would
meet their mortal fate that night.
poem by Terry Collett
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
