A cageful of chickens,
Stockpile for a kitchen.
A cageful of squawking
From the dead meat walking.
Eggs are gathered in morning;
Meat is chosen in evening.
One chick’s allowed for every hen;
The rest are chucked to canines’ den.
For they greet the butcher’s hand with glee,
The cage has no need for a key.
And between greedy pecks of feed,
The fowls mock the skies of the freed.
They huddle closely in their shit,
Absorbed in their clucking wit
Of 50-cent opinions,
While preening unused pinions.
Hear, hear, to the roosters’ rave,
Screeches in their morning rut:
“Arise, ye who refuse to be slaves!
With our flesh and blood,
Let us build ourselves a new Great Cage!”
Photo Courtesy: stockhealth.com.au