Mother Hens can’t help it.
It’s in their DNA, it’s what they are.
You may know the breed — she may be a
relative visiting from the hinterlands, or
a semi-invited in-law passing through
on her way to somewhere she’s in no
particular hurry to get to….yet, to your house,
she’ll flit here/there like a barnyard chicken,
approve or disapprove of everything, glance
askance at something you’re wearing or doing.
Peck a little, talk a little, cluck, cluck, cluck!

But you will outlast the guested busybody —
you’re a poet, and poets can rise high above
it all, see the big picture. Poets know chickens
eventually go home to roost. Poets know this
too will pass away. Come to think of it,
Mother Hens would probably make passable
poets….if only they knew how and when to fly.


6 comments on “SOAR LOSERS

  1. Liked soar losers a lot, mistermuse. Fortunately, my first mother in law never spent the night; no room in a 2 bedroom flat. But she always hid her little criticisms with a smile and fed me like I was starving when we all visited her home. She was a sweet and sarcastic little biddy hen but I liked her anyway, Unfortunately she passed away last year. Now I find I miss her goodness and the many favors she did for me. My other Mom in law actually was my surrogate Mom after my parents left this valley of tears in 1980. She came into my life 6 months later when my fiance took me and my kiddles to Charlotte, NC. I took care of her husband when he was dying of cancer and later she remarried Arthur. She was happy until he died. Then she became a bit more critical in an underhanded way. Finally, she flew her coop to Assisted Living in Georgia where her second son can visit her every weekend and help her set up computers and fix little stuff. She has an indoor pool, plays bridge and goes to her nearby Temple. As she ages and forgets little things, I find myself being much more kinder to her than she was to me.


  2. mistermuse says:

    They say it takes all kinds, Michaeline, and the experiences you well relate exemplify that. Compassion for the foibles of others should temper our reactions as much as possible.

    By the way, in case you didn’t catch it, the line “Peck a little, talk a little, cluck, cluck, cluck” in my poem is a play on the words of the song “Pick A Little, Talk A Little” from THE MUSIC MAN.


  3. Don Frankel says:

    Perhaps Ernie K. Doe said it best.


  4. mistermuse says:

    I love it, Don!


  5. arekhill1 says:

    I only have a child and a girlfriend to keep track of my flaws, Sr. Muse. Fortunately, they do a more than adequate job.


  6. mistermuse says:

    Better “Fortunately” than “Unfortunately,” I always say (especially if said girlfriend might read it).


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