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He surveys his domain

with pale, baleful eyes,

head jerking here and there

at every shift in wind and sky,

ready to rip and tear.

He struts from end to end,

fluffed feathers, comb flapping to and fro,

confirming the scope of his harem,

crowing with every fiber

of his ten-pound body.

They, with no short-term memory,

Peck and scratch the dirt,

His crowing their Muzak.

No synapses fire, mercifully, to

signal their imminent rapes.

Word of the Day Challenge — Imperious

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