Bloodshed in the Flock

 

 

brown and black hen with peep of chick outdoor
Photo by Quang Nguyen Vinh on Pexels.com

A hen was ripped to shreds
by the other hens in my
mother’s coop.
Why? I asked.
She was different, Mom said.
They hate and attack
the ones who don’t
fit in the flock.
I can’t see it, I said.
She looks the same.
She acts like any
other chicken.
But they know it.
They don’t like hens
who do not conform
to what a hen should be.
Oh. So, people are like
chickens?
Yes, she said.
Yes.
We are.

Leave Well Enough Alone

green cacti in pots near window
Photo by Rov Camato on Pexels.com

I didn’t respect the cactus.

I didn’t leave it alone.

I smothered it with water,

plant food, and too much loam.

 

I did read the directions;

I studied all the books.

It preferred dry, rocky soil,

that is all it took.

 

I pampered it with attention,

and mulch to kill the weeds.

But, problem was, it only took

once a year to feed.

 

Can we kill with kindness?

Can we do too much?

Can we let Life blossom

without our damning clutch?

Nothing There For Me

vegetables italian pizza restaurant
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

If I must go to Heaven

when I die,

there had better be pizza

and Key Lime pie.

 

If I must go to Heaven

when I’m gone,

there should be kittens

on a lush green lawn.

 

If I must go to Heaven

when I expire,

I want marshmallows and

hotdogs over a campfire.

 

If Heaven does not have

any of these,

I don’t want Heaven.

I’ll rot in the leaves.