Windmills and Dead Birds
by Douglas Gilbert
“the play’s the thing”
The lambs can not feed, because
the vandals did trample the grass
Behold, the shepherd is my overlord,
he’s my Father who art in Washington
He lambastes the flock, but my father’s
gone afoul of Hamlet’s fowl and
he lets Claudius loot
Yea verily,
the shepherd is on the lam,
the play’s a turkey, and
guilt’s the thing
Behold the false mettle: let
green new pastures curse
the excrement with moss
and execrable dross
The windmills have killed the birds
and heavy turkeys can’t fly
Hey just baste a chicken, continue, if
it can be seen on stage, yes. Enjambment
is truly a lamb chop in raspberry jam.
Just deserts deserve a chicken play
that’s got legs, so
take us on down
to New Orleans, ’cause
whether festival or wake
we can jam with
neither fish nor fowl.
Chloë 