by Uncle Ronny

I stepped out the door to greet the fine day,
But two horny-honkers were blocking my way.
My "babies," my sweeties, my lil' birdheads!
They honked recognition! "Good morning!," they said.

I stepped off the stoop, while avoiding some poop.
"Hey, I've warned about that! You birds wanna be soup?"
I strolled to the glider and sat my bones down.
And those two feathered critters came waddling around.

They stood quiet and still, and at me they stared.
All morning on grass and sundry green stuff they'd fared.
Oh, I knew what they wanted; 'twas really no news.
Honk Hogan walked over and nibbled my shoes.

I smiled and I giggled as I watched silly birds.
I said, "What's goin' on here!" Or some similar words.
Honk pecked and he picked, then as sure as you're born,
He threw up his head and, I swear, squawked, "Corn, corn!"

"Well, good golly Miss Molly, Land O' Goshen, indeed,
Like clockwork on grain each morning they feed."
I stood, smiled, and dawdled, and acted quite lost.
"Come on, dude, get going!" those peering eyes bossed.

"'M'on" I motioned, and they were right on my heels.
In sublime anticipation of the bestest of meals!
Inside the garage, scooping, corn I took hold,
And anxious webbed feet tapped the metal threshold.

Lucy Goosey and Honk gobbled golden grain down,
Then sought water and grass to help push it on down.
They watered and grazed and then awaited my weed pull.
'Cause the best grass to eat ... is grass fed by a people.

(This was a lil' poem I wrote for my Multiply.com blog November 24, 2009, just messin' around.)

Photos: (Top) Photobucket.com.

(Bottom) These be the guilty parties, subjects of the poem. © R. H. Livingston