I Did, I Do, I Don't

Well, whatever
When I won't
Make the effort,
Clear my throat.

Alive with pleasure.
Measure for measure.
Quarter cup,
Life of leisure

Brings chickens home
To roost from roam.
Running circles,
Coops and combs.

They always come
At night's fall,
Dark and dank
On empty tank,

To find the feed
Along the screed
Their wants and needs
And bon vivant.

Then half assed
Jivey jaunt
Into the weeds
And neighbor's yard.

Still can't hoist
Their own petard.
So here you are
Wanting more,

With pecking orders
For the store
And dirty footprints
Across my floor.


6/16/23