Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ROOSTER; TO PAT RYAN, by JAMES HARRISON Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: I have to kill the rooster tomorrow. He's being an asshole Last Line: Doesn't matter and he will wag his head, strut, perhaps crow. Alternate Author Name(s): Harrison, Jim Subject(s): Death; Roosters; Dead, The; Cocks | ||||||||
I have to kill the rooster tomorrow. He's being an asshole, having seriously wounded one of our two hens with his insistent banging. You walk into the barn to feed the horses and pick up an egg or two for breakfast and he jumps her proclaiming she's mine she's mine. Her wing is torn and the primary feathers won't grow back. Chickens have largely been denatured, you know. He has no part in those delicious fresh eggs. He crows on in a vacuum. He is utterly pointless. He's as dumb as a tapeworm and no one cares if he lives or dies. There. I can kill him with an easy mind. But I'm still not up to it. Maybe I can hire a weasel or a barn rat to do the job, or throw him to Justine, the dog, who would be glad to rend him except the neighbors have chickens too, she'd get the habit and we would have a beloved shot dog to bury. So he deserves to die, having no purpose. We'll have stewed barnyard chicken, closer to eating a gamebird than that tasteless supermarket chicken born and bred in a caged darkness. Everything we eat is dead except an occasional oyster or clam. Should I hire the neighbor boy to kill him? Will the hens stop laying out of grief? Isn't his long wavering crow magnificent? Isn't the worthless rooster the poet's bird brother? No. He's just a rooster and the world has no place for him. Should I wait for a full wintry moon, take him to the top of the hill after dropping three hits of mescaline and strangle him? Should I set him free for a fox meal? They're coming back now after the mange nearly wiped them out. He's like a leaking roof with drops falling on my chest. He's the Chinese torture in the barn. He's lust mad. His crow penetrates walls. His head bobs in lunar jerks. The hens shudder but are bored with the pain of eggs. What can I do with him? Nothing isn't enough. In the morning we will sit down together and talk it out. I will tell him he doesn't matter and he will wag his head, strut, perhaps crow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON A COCK AT ROCHESTER by CHARLES SEDLEY THE HEATH-COCK by JOANNA BAILLIE TWO VIEWS OF IT by CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH CHICK-A-ROOSTER by HENRY CROCKER THE COCK by HORTENSE KING FLEXNER THE COCK AND THE FOX by JEAN DE LA FONTAINE UNCLE JOHN FIDDLER by PERCY MACKAYE THE IDEA OF BALANCE IS TO BE FOUND IN HERONS AND LOONS by JAMES HARRISON |
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