Glocidate

I.

i overheard it.

knew it had to be coming from You.

You and the gaggle You scurry with

Around these parts.

Pecking the ground with an

Absent-minded stare,

Mouth open to the rain.

Feeling all of what you see

Is Yours,

Is deserved.

Guaranteed

Insured.

II.

i sat with what i heard.

Chewed it the recommended 32 times.

Turned it over in my mouth.

Slathered my tongue over it to taste the sour notes/make myself aware of the bitterness.

i took my notes in the sand with my left pointer finger. You and the rest of them came over. Your clacking feet and the arrhythmic cadence of Your claws.

A cloud of dust around your feet.

Your movement erased my notes. Annihilated something fragile. made me forget what i was thinking.

i had infringed on what was Yours and was not mine.

You were teaching me my place.

Teaching me Your lessons.

A pause.

i spat out what had been in my mouth,

Left it right there in the sand,

A gift for those without teeth

To peck at and mush further with their gums,

Remaking the thought i lost.

Learning the lesson i had started.

III.

You have accosted the Fox. The one known for coming in the dead of night

To steal You, Your constituents, and Your eggs in his burlap sack.

Seeing him,

You warbled in shrill pitches,

All of you, crescendoing Your outrage

wielding sound as a pointed stick.

Let the farmer know:

The interloper has returned.

Never mind 

The Fox has children.

Never mind

He has to hear the hunger in their cries.

A hunger, You believe, You will never know.

A hunger, You know, You will never deserve.

You waddle right up to him.

You let him know

This is a place ordained by the zodiac sign

That bears the Rooster’s image.

A cry that threatens.

“We will ask for the management.”

To The Fox’s credit, he will still swipe at You, feeble and without verve.

He will still flash his teeth, in a semblance of something frightening in another context, try to rally You and the others-

Screaming and shuffling in outrage circles-into his burlap sack.

He does it without feeling.

He knows he has already lost.

He will go home to his hungry children’s sung laments, a funeral dirge for his failure.

You and the rest will celebrate with triumphant feast of old seeds. Clucking at your cleverness. You will sleep well. Secure in Your place.

IV.

I want to leave you with a vision.

The life you and the others will lead after the night of The Fox’s failure.

you will never know hunger.

you will never want for any need,

you will be forever useful.

Celebrated for what you will bring.

your celebrated life, however, is not without its revelations.

you will come to know the farmer’s rough hands. Gripping you with a routine sternness.

This is another Monday for him.

you will come to know the feeling of your feather’s being plucked away with rough efficiency.

The grip tightening around your neck,

The elaborate, precise swinging, economic wringing.

Finally, A sickening crack.

Then, a dark, unyielding silence.

you, and your constituents will go on, an uninspired meal for someone else.

A gamey, overcooked dish

minimally enjoyed at a silent table

leftovers uneaten

the entire experience

immediately forgotten

the reward for your service.