Poem: Pheasants – 12/08/20

The pheasants are happier today,
they do not quarrel or bicker,
they simply stand upon the chicken wire,
plump chests and pride,
smiles shining within their beady eyes.
 
Pheasants should not be captured like this
but they are prized for their symbology,
their sign of luck and fertility,
and certainly
they are being reared
for men and women so greedy,
who want to gain altered fortunes so readily.
 
But I will tell you this, their flowing tails,
their glowing shades,
their elegant necks, long legs,
they send people into a frenzy knowing that their
beauty is here, available,
purchasable,
not only enviable,
it is trusted,
the transaction is set, to be made well and ready.
 
Cruel collectors, I suppose
are really lifelong saviours,
because they’d never harm this fortuitous bird,
never ruin its serendipitous style,
simply cash-sale and capture
for the rest of its life
the pheasants are pleased;
their new owners will soon arrive.
 
Anything can be better
than living in a box of chicken wire
rectangular sized,
tiny in style,
I guess they’d be grateful,
essentially feel rather noble
that they’d been selected
by others who plucked them away from their places
within the cold stable.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image credit: Pixabay

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