Much Ado about Looting

Some chickens went a-rampaging
On London’s civil streets,
Egged on by thoughts of workless gain
They went to plunder treats;

The cocks they wore their hoods on
Like the falcons of a king,
Whilst the hens they pulled on joggers
And adorned themselves in bling.

Meantime, the good eggs hurrying home
Watched fearfully indeed,
As rival flocks joined ranks to swell
A tidal wave of greed.

At first it started lightly
With some talk of extra corn,
Or a pilfered dish of pellets
Nicked from someone else’s lawn,

But all was for the taking
For the coops were nowhere near,
And the law-abiding chickens
Were left looking on in fear.

Like foxes did this rabble
-I cannot call them fowl –
Seep like a septic sewage sludge
Onto the streets, to prowl…

But now these raiders reckoned
That mere grain was not enough,
And set their sights on mealworms
And the more expensive stuff;

Perhaps they’d grab an Eglu
Or a brand new roosting bar,
An automatic pop-hole
Or a tub of Stockholm Tar?

Perhaps they wanted booty
To sell on to feed their vice-
An intemperate addiction
To sweetcorn and Poultry Spice?

So with wattles wobbling wildly
And with sharpened spurs like steel,
They battered down the hen shops
To pillage and to steal.

They lobbed explosive cocktails
(These mean-beaked fighting hens)
Of Poultry Shield and hen poo
Also known as nitrogen!

Most of these lawless poultry
Were not yet point-of-lay,
Which now must beg the question-
Why was this pointless fray?

Some blame it on their fathers
Who often aren’t attached
To such chicks- but that’s quite normal
If you’re incubator-hatched;

Some blame it on their teachers
As they haven’t passed their SAT’s,
But surely that is hardly fair
If chicks behave like brats?

Some blame it on the government
As fiscal screws are turned,
And tolerance is tinder-dry –
So London’s streets are burned.

But law-abiding chickens
Whose premises were trashed,
Know no excuse is valid
For the theft of layers’ mash;

That no excuse gives reason
To the “mayhen” that occurred,
When the boundaries of reason
Were conveniently blurred.

But as the ashes settled
And the damage was surveyed,
Some chickens clucked in horror,
Whilst others quietly prayed.

But all around, a groundswell
Arose in chicken-hood,
To overcome the chaos
And turn it into good.

So chickens flocked together
Not with weapons now, but tools-
To tidy their henvironment
And beat the thuggish fools;

Some hens they worked with dustpans
Whilst others, they did sweep,
As the hoody hens departed
With their swag bags, for a sleep.

With streets now full of police-hen
And justice round the clock,
Those once-rampaging cockerels
Are now standing in the dock;

They don’t look quite as scary
(Though one just caught a mouse),
As the judge dispenses justice-
Which may mean the slaughterhouse.

So the moral of this story
And the lesson hens must learn,
Is not to vent frustration
By finding things to burn;

Instead, when flocked together,
For the purposes of good,
A gentle band of feathers
Is much better than a hood.