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.
