by Maylea Harris
my rooster who crows at sundown
is nothing more than wasted meat
he keeps the farmers awake, my pigs restless
my hens begging him to come nest
but he screams at the end of the workday
like someone is acknowledging him
(if we do, he’d never stop)
I’ll do the same at my time, but it’s still annoying
would it be simpler for him to die at the end of my axe?
swift, silent, slicing through worn-out vocal cords
or is it kinder to let him count down his days?
trading a quick death for longer suffering
maybe I’m projecting
Maylea Harris is a high school senior who loves to write. She enjoys poetry, argumentative writing, and short story writing. She lives in a small farm town in Massachusetts, where all her neighbors have chickens that get loose into her yard. Her mother really wants chickens. She wants peace.