This only happens during elections:
At dawn each morning, Feathers (the kids named
him) morphs shrill crowing for lucky ol' sun
from cock-a-doodle-doo to Cohan’s famed
Yankee Doodle Dandy. A Rhode Island
Red, his gait even alters from thoughtful
march to running, a salute he portends
for those manic presidential hopefuls
in their greedy pursuit of power. This
all started during ol’ Bill’s first campaign.
By rights, our cock should have croaked before his
second term ended. Maybe he’s remained
to share in ol’ Hillary’s dash. Or then
again, maybe he’s a leap-year chicken.
Roger Armbrust
March 11, 2008
