Cock's Lot

Cock’s Lot

Too many chicks are a
Single cock’s undoing,
Farmhouse wife’s folly is expedited
In one final screwing;

A wringing of that stretching
Bugling neck and cob,
And well hung
From a stout doors’ knob.

Too many chicks stepped out of line
And fell foul of paw
Of cat’s
Hooking claw.

Compelled by nature to bend to its role
Our late cock laboured in vain,
While pussy softly footed stole,
Our early riser took strain.

Wife’s folly and cock’s ill-lot:
Plucked between robust thighs,
Fate sealed,
And all to pot.

At sunset dinner table
Savoury scents summoned rustic hands,
With appetites wetted
And able.

Good soup they murmured all the while,
And taking stock of table talk
On came the beast,
Centrepiece of wife’s’ proud smile.

The once proud cock duly tasted –
“Bit scrawny”,” bit tough,”
Slipped out greasily gruff.
Hungry hands, carcass to cat, nothing wasted.