The Mad Rooster
A poem
That cockerel had it in for us;
wanted us as red ribbons
beneath sharp claws and piercing
beak tatters, but we bravely
plundered the field with scared
feet and timid yet, fast steps
across the path ruled by his
fearsome gaze armed with
metal tray midair, armor-plated, to
shield from rip and shred among
the clover. And the straw chicks
clucking as if was well.
“I’ll take him any day,” you
mouthed through clenched
teeth and shaken knees of
tremble-fear that slacks the
stand-tall all asunder and
goosebumps growing on skin
thin as nettle juice mix.
Bridget Webber writes articles for magazines and websites; she often ghostwrites for professionals who can’t spare the time to pen compositions. She’s written poetry eBooks and is featured in several leading publications.
