Poem and Drawing: The Rooster and the Cracked Egg – 07/08/19

It was the Rooster or the Egg.

The Rooster cackled to himself.

Why? Because he was safe, and in the wave of heat was somebody else.

He had no attachment to this egg,

Wasn’t even his,

Would never see it again.

Curiosity though,  

Was the cracking caused by cooking or hatching?

If hatching, wouldn’t it be wise that he was now planning to commence of this situation a firm and clean detachment?

Away from the scene he would go,

Away from chook support,

Where no one would know,

Of his face they’d never recognise or him purport,

No matter how devilishly handsome he was, of course.

From his plume of feathers they’d not decide,

Whether he was a relative or the father,

Monetary dues upon the hour,

Because he now remembered that old chook Sheila.

They were dancing all night, heel toe heel, yeah, it felt so right,

Then that fateful night in her nest,

Where he plucked and preened loose feathers from her breast.

And so on and so forth.

Could this egg be the result,

Of his wild night of two?

His regrets now,

Were a thousand times two.

For the alimony,

The child support,

For roosters was incredibly high,

For their earning capacity had surged a few years ago prior to this night.

But as he watched the cage with the egg lower into the welcoming fire,

He quietly uttered a short thankful prayer,

That the messy situation would become all cleansed,

There was no way he could save this chick anyway from the heated cage’s chest.

Then suddenly, a final crack,

Loud, overwhelming, as though one had cracked their back,

And out popped a tiny gangly little yellow chick,

Eyes focussing right on Rooster,

“Daddy! Where have you been?!”

With a moaning and a groaning and a wing slapped across his face,

Rooster took the chick under his other wing

And commenced a trudging pace.

What would he do with this chick?

He did not know how on earth to rear it,

Where was Sheila when she was needed,

To look after her next of kin?

But Sheila was nowhere to be seen,

Perhaps she was dreaming of enormously satisfying things,

Such as dancing away the night now with Farmer Green,

And her chicks around the farm being looked after by their once wayward fathers who had tried to remain unseen.

She had taught them a lesson or two that with adult behaviours comes actual responsibility,

And with due course, she would return to her families and rear them all with the utter grace of an ingenious farmyard queen.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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