Chick Day

Whenever chick day rolls around
He heads for the local Co-Op,
In his best Big Smith overalls,
His hair Brylcreemed to perfection,
Ostrich hide boots
Carry him into the store
Where he might run into the recent widow,
Or the unsuspecting new farm bride,
Who come to pick out baby chicks,
Heat lamps, and bags of chicken feed
That morph into dresses,
He offers them help as they bend over
The makeshift pen,
“There’s a cute one,” he says
Putting one hand on their back
Then backing off when they raise up
Red faced and mad,
Pulling down on the hem of their feedsack dress,
“Now Jeb, mind your manners,” the clerk says to him,
Remembering her dead husband,
How he went with her to the Co-Op
Every year on chick day.