I named them all
though my mother
told me never
to name dinner.
I did: Sally, Ann, Nancy, Birdie
the hens only pecked
when I took their eggs;
speckled cream or brown
and warm from setting
the rooster
I didn’t name
because we warred–
we took turns chasing
each other–him,
with those spurs ready,
or me
grabbing him by the legs
& spinning him dizzy;
retaliation
for the scar I still carry
on my right arm
naming
was insurance–
we might have had
fried chicken for dinner
on Sundays
because of those names
it was never Nancy
or Sally
on the table
but it was never
that rooster, either
Susan Daniels Poetry 
fun! love this picture
🙂 Thanks! That was me growing up…naming the chickens so my parents would not kill them.
it was a lovely glimpse into you.. enjoyed it very much
awww, thanks 🙂
Naming was insurance, for they, for your heart.
Exactly 🙂
The one I left nameless on purpose didn’t make it to the table, either, by virtue of being too tough or stringy 😉
still chuckling! 🙂
🙂 We were told never to name our food. However, someone I know knows a family that buys two turkey chicks every spring–one is named “Christmas” and the other is named “Thanksgiving.”
Very funny a write worthy of my domain enjoying it immensely
🙂 Thank you, Ian–glad you liked it!
Believe it or not, I relate! Dad had 15 hens 3 roosters and, dang I couldn’t take the noise~and can’t eat eggs! Great imagery with sounds! You’re wonderful !
Thanks, m’dear. Wow–that would be a bunch of noise…
To take an everyday occurance of eating chicken and turn it into such wonder. You are amazing Susan. Great write!
😉 thanks! What an incorrigible child I was…