My constitution is strong
as an oxymoron. This is why
I have been counting chickens
with egg on my face.
Everything here is hazy, crazy:
I'm in a sunshine state
without an egg to stand on.
Have to shell out for a chicken.
My fathers were founders keepers.
The eggs they sucked have come
home to roost. They laid down
rules, and they flew the coop
by the skin of a chicken.
Or a turkey. In the funny farm
at high noon, our eggheads cluck
in the dead heat.
