Aliens

They emerged from the eggs 

of our snow white Silkies.

Every one a cockerel when grown,

we decided to have one for dinner.

The skin was blue, under the white plumage,

which was quite a shock,

a little alien,

but cooked, it was fine. Normal.

And the flesh was white,

But when carved, the bones were blue.

Disconcerting.

A little alien.

And now these red feathered birds

have appeared as if from nowhere,

their eggs pink. 

When they hatched and grew,

all were hens,

 their clutches carefully hidden,

each batch of chicks larger than the last.

A little strange,

a little alien.

And then, at last, there were cockerels,

too many and too large. 

We decided to have one for dinner.

The skin was pink under the red plumage

which was quite a shock.

A little alien.

But cooked it was fine. Normal.

And the flesh was white.

But when carved the bones were pink,

Disconcerting,

more than a little alien.

There are more of them now,

growing ever larger.

I think that soon

the dinner tables will be turned

and they’ll make a meal of us.

http://www.sirenscallpublications.com/pdfs/SirensCallEZine_Spring2023.pdf