CHICKENS HOME TO ROOST

CHICKENS HOME TO ROOST   Any more? I need to know - are there really any more cloddish cluckers strutting, circling around me-ward?   Enough, Do you hear? You lousy lizard-legged harbingers of doom filling my overburdened life beyond the brim.   But why? Tell me this - did I display directing wayside words? Did I point them arrow-straight at me?   And why chickens … why not hawks? At least then I could admire their dignity and fierce grace.   Or peacocks with ravishing rainbows in a foreplay finesse of fine feathers.   Or nightingales with songs to wring wistful tears and ecstatic smiles?   Anything … any bird but piddling peck-peck-peckers drab, timid and hoarse.   Now look! Heed me now - you've pest-plagued my paltry living space, outstayed your welcome … so cluck off!   Hear this, and hear it hard and good: the next fat fowl to foul my floor is frigging fricassee.