Assassination of a Rooster

THEY HATE HIS COFFEE BREATH and post-it-notes,
his coked-out eyes and manly-man manner,
his raucous laughter scattering the goats,
the scribbling and erasing in his planner.
They long to know the careless sleep of rocks,
but Rooster steers his jeep through stall and nest.
He's kicking ass and taking names and mocks
their ruined morning with his sharp behest.
Assassins catch him in his sweaty dreams
and wrench his neck before he crows his rude
doodle-do, then gut him while he screams,
or tries to but discovers that he’s screwed.
But louder now the hateful song goes on,
the bird's ghost waking all of them at dawn.

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