So there I was, painting a barn with Luke,
Up at Farmer Bob’s place, late November
Just before the snow flew. And I looked down
From my ladder to see a huge turkey
Wander across the yard to watch me work.
They say those birds are thick as two short planks –
Even drown in rainstorms is what I heard –
But I was still amazed to see that girl
Rub her backside against the fresh red paint,
Like some rouged-up feathery street-walker
Daring the world to take her liberty.
Free for a day – so live without regrets!
Perhaps we all embody irony
Like that blood-red hen, heedless of her fate.
If so, then I will not go quietly
Like her, I’ll sashay, brazen, through the rain
Teasing the future with my hot red cheeks.
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