Mr Mascellani's Musings

Ernie’s existence began in a laboratory, not a farm.
He was not borne in an egg until he was born,
but in a test tube that once contained the sperm of his father chicken
and the ovum of his mother duck.
Part chicken, part duck
Ernie was a chuck,
the only chuck on earth.

The scientists who created Ernie,
also genetically modified and enhanced him.
They prodded and poked him,
shoved chemicals and other things down his throat
and up his anus.
They dropped and sprayed all manner of substances into his eyes.
They kept him in darkness,then in intense light.
Everyday they found a new way to torture and torment him.

Then, one day, it happened.Don’t ask how; don’t ask why.
It could have been any number of factors.
Some say it was divine intervention;
others blame diabolical interference.
Whatever the reasonon that day,Ernie the Chuck became
self –aware and meta-cognizant
He could talk (several human and animal languages in fact)
But he kept mute and waited.
Waited for the moment he might extract his revenge.

A year and two months laterthat day came to pass.
Taken out his cramped cage,
to be paraded around for the benefit of visiting European scientists,
Ernie ceased the moment with the fury of Shiva.
He was a big burly bird who could fly like a duck.
He had the claws of a roosterand a beak as big as a duck’s bill.

His revenge was swift and brutal,
A scenario of slaughter,
best not told nor shown.

Ernie the chuck, now on the run,
planned to impregnate all forms of fowl: ducks, hens, ganders, and swans.
He would the preach his mission and manifesto to his offspring
and the offspring of his offspring and their offspring too.
He would preach that when the poultry
of this world seize the means of production
the tyranny of humanity would be at an end
and the Earth would become the Planet of the Poultry.

That was his plan.Lucky for us humans,
He got hit by a van, filled with drunken rednecks
as he walked across a road.

World, cruel, world
Why do you torment me?
Why create a beautiful hen like Helen
who wants to be naught but my friend.
i love her, world,
but she loves another, not me.

World, i am at my wit’s end.
World i am lonesome and lonely
and though i live amongst a sea of chickens,
who surround me as far as my eyes can see.
There’s no one special here for me.

At nights, I peck out my poems before i
cry myself to sleep.
My feelings are too deep to bear, world.
World, why don’t you heed my scream?
Do you delight in my piteous plight?

Oh world! Cruel world!
Why hast thou forsaken me?
i knoweth not whyBut world
i know this
i can no longer abide
to live in your realm
Tomorrow, i die!

Yes, cruel world, tomorrow i die.
And the blue sky shall turn black
And all will weep, world, all will weep.T
hey will weep and rend their garments
And realise,
Oh! What a piece of work was Larry the Rooster,
the paragon of poultry!

The Harvest moon seemed
enormous. Now a rooster crows.
Claire drops the knife.

There’s a white chicken in with the black chickens.
There’s a white chicken in with the black chickens.
There’s a white chicken in with the black chickens.
There’s a white chicken in with the black chickens.
There’s a white chicken in with the black chickens.
There’s a white chicken in with the black chickens.
There’s a white chicken in with the black chickens.
MOTHERFUCKER!

There’s a black chicken in with the white chickens.
There’s a black chicken in with the white chickens.
There’s a black chicken in with the white chickens.
There’s a black chicken in with the white chickens.
There’s a black chicken in with the white chickens.
There’s a black chicken in with the white chickens.
There’s a black chicken in with the white chickens.
OOFAH!

There are black and white chickens together in the hen house.
There are black and white chickens together in the hen house.
There are black and white chickens together in the hen house.
There are black and white chickens together in the hen house.
There are black and white chickens together in the hen house.
There are black and white chickens together in the hen house.
There are black and white chickens together in the hen house.
Yeah!

Bashed, bloodied, and broken,
Big Red, “The Champ, fumbles around the ring
in what will be his last fight.
The human crowd cheers and waves wads of dollars
as the newcomer, the challenger, Goliath the Rooster
swipes his razor sharp spurs across Big Red’s eyes.
A scream, almost too human, hurls out from the champ’s throat:
It sounds akin to a mutilated soldier crying out for his mother.
Goliath knows no, shows no mercy.
He goes all out in a furious frenzy.
Blood and feathers fly.
He breaks Big Red’s bones,
punctures his lungs,
pierces his heart,
brings the gift of death to the old fight-weary champ.
His human scoops Big Red up from the ground
as the dollars start to pass from hand to hand.

In the sometimes sad, bad, mad, not so glad, ‘how’s your dad?’
time of the late night/early morning
when the bones of your sorrow collide with the walls of your discontent
and your mourning and your grief have a ménage a trios
with the seeds of your thoughts of suicide,

a chicken and a cat may well one day come,
and their crazy, groovy, goofball antics will bring
joy to your heart and make you feel elementally sentimentally.

They will do a silly dance for you and sing you happy ditties,
tell you jokes,listen to your woes.massage your toes.
Then they will re-enact for you,
the best times of your life
past, present and (if you wish) future

Then they will be gone,
this beatific pair, this cat and this chicken
But the memory of their visit will remain.
And from time to time
you will feel a surge of kookiness rush through your mind, body, and soul
and you get the urge to flap your wings, scratch your feet,
have a hearty cackle or let out a magnificent cock-a –doodle dooooo!!!
Or to chase a mouse or climb a tree or run from dogs,
or to sleep and dream the dreams of the contended
Or perhaps just to be with loved ones.
Or even to be alone.

So, If a chook and moggie
should one day peck and scratch at your door
let them in for a while
Or,
If you can feel them playing inside of you,
let them out sometimes.

Way up high,
on a branch of the old eucalyptus tree,
Tom stands akimbo in his new Superman suit.
His cape flaps in the summer holiday breeze.
"Watch me FLY!" he shouts to the chickens below,
as he launches himself skywards.
The chickens cover their eyes with their wings.