Eggs Are Laid Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

Chew the few do on tidbits.
Some onioned and green peppered!
And moo with sounds like cows,
Ruminating cud...
When touched by cool fingertips.
Gently squeezing milk from filled utters.
Hens peck.
Roosters crow.
Eggs are laid...
As opinions are tossed to and fro.
Farming fresh water fished.
And booted to gossip in spring waters.
This, when viewed, inspires appetites to write.
Delighting one to dine...
On the imaginative scrambling to perplex fixed minds.
Sometimes!
Some do chew on tidbits stewed.
Spitting pits of cherries picked,
On a hilltop sitting sniffing fumes of manure.
Thinking of stiff necks to crack...
Within the shells of those stuff shirted backs.
Smacking on rhetoric and tossing crap,
As if narrow points of view...
Will influence a sunnyside up disposition,
Of one who knows they desire news to poach
From all sides of this valley.