THE ROOSTER (for Brian F)
Not a dry eye in the house
when the story takes a twist
This isn’t a sad song,
merely a celebration of the rooster
Beyond all the bluster,
this magnificent bastard
bore a heart of chrome
He held himself to the mirror
and felt comfortable
with his reflection
There’s no point in grieving,
he would have hated that
NO HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS
Christmas loses its luster
after you spend one too many
in a lonely motel room
Or even worse, without shelter
While the rest of the world
tears open wrapped gifts
from beneath a glittery pine tree,
you dig past the lint in empty pockets
for enough to get a square meal
instead of visiting the soup kitchen again
Nobody tells how hard it is
to be thankful when you’re shivering
because you’ve hocked your only coat
so you can eat that week
The burden of being so alone
that it physically hurts
wraps around your throat
like a plough anchor
Someday you’ll get out of the dirt
and wash your hands clean
of all the damage done, but don’t fool yourself
It never really leaves you
Michael N. Thompson likes bacon, cats and fantasy football. His poetry has appeared in numerous literary journals including Word Riot, Toronto Quarterly and San Pedro River Review. He is the author of four poetry collections, the most recent being A Murder Of Crows published by University of Hell Press.
