Playing god
in an 8x10 shed
where adolescent instinct
ruled all—
when she dreams now
of an old man
handing her a bird
too big to hold
it reminds her
of the first cock
she chose to cull,
the way the trash can
shook from his wingbeats
even though his neck
was well broken;
it wasn’t that
he’d lost a race
or proven impotent—
he was scalping
every chick in the loft
that wasn’t his own progeny.
Hearing their screams,
seeing their heads bleed,
she dictated
his death sentence;
for the good of the many,
her own life sacrificed.
_
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