I know why there is no egg
no matter how much I beg.
What bird flu didn’t get
we ate what’s left as yet
the choice of egg
deferred we eat the leg.
The lonely rooster
with no hens
that harem booster
like a pig in pens
has only mud to tread
not even one wife in his bed.
Whatever’s left as good
to eat surviving the memory
of chicken feed
is poor pale substitute for savory
of finger licken’ food.