Spring Chickens

Brought better price, those spring born fowl,
while winter took its toll of course;
so farmers sought to dress old birds –
to kid their custom – quite absurd –
but clients charged, not spring at all!

Three hundred years, that term now slang,
thus just like mutton dressed as lamb;
the men cast off, with insult trade,
as some aged women are afraid
their value lies in outward skin.

But wisdom runs through wrinkle lines
and seeps from pores in wizened skin;
as names the bard, in blaming flame,
expense of spirit, waste of shame.
The cuter chicks don’t stay that way.

So strip the paint, the model stance,
and cease to be the mannequin;
experience, the boast of old,
and broaching subject of fool’s gold,
toast with simple ring and brooch.

Ignore the spin of media,
the advertising, social trends;
the broiler may be tougher eat,
but that’s he meat I’d rather meet,
though won’t protect me from the Fall.

Published by Medusa’s Kitchen, 1st April 2024

https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2024/04/national-poetry-month.html