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Chicken Little
Chicken Little
Much like a messenger to mind,
Posed staring down into my face,
I sensed a rooster, brash and bold,
Was challenging my right to breathe.
Thus, in the inkling of an eye
With onset latent bleariness,
The old conundrum, fight or flight,
Was freshly flashing in my head.
This rooster was no idle threat.
Its size, imposing, filled my sky.
Its comb was cocked with attitude.
Its beak was aimed between my eyes.
Its eyes were beady like black peas.
They pierced my confidence and will.
Its countenance was firmly grim.
Its posture signaled, “Make my day!”
Then, in a moment’s timed elapse,
My brain awoke in roused synapse.
Fear not, it’s just macropsia.
The sky’s not falling after all.
Copyright ©
Robert Waltrip
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