Cock of the Hill
Poems

Cock of the Hill

It was a deadly hot day in August;
you’d think a chick looking that good
would stay in her coup, with the others.
Why was she in my front yard? A furlong
and more from her house
eying the cock who was feeling quite cocky
prancing on the hilltop, marking territories.

The entire Union Village knew they heard him
cock of the hill. Announcing his domain.

I was unzipping the soil beneath the potato sprout
– in the little field dad planted beside the house
Dad had reaped all the potatoes, and took them to the market
Down Balaclava after-all why were sprouts looking at me.

Its not my fault that the chicken looked good,
Diddle, waddling around the house fallowing the cock.

That’s when I started to fallow her.
The paint tin was sitting beside the fireplace
and the chicken looked as if she would fit
even before we minus the feathers.
Of glistening brown, and silky touch
she had beautiful brown eyes,
and two of the longest sexy-walking legs
– I have ever seen.

O! How I wish I didn’t have to do this,
why couldn’t she just stay in the coup build for them
why she had to break out and come, clapping seductive wings.

The water was boiling under the pimiento tree
when I let my brother dunk her behind. First
everyone with an eye had to partake in the crime
and swear on Grandma’s king James bible
like the three monkeys, No evil
we plucked with care, and accuracy
until she was naked and smooth
swung her nakedness over the blazing flames
dumping the feathers in the pit toilet.

It was her fault she should have stayed in the coupe
then my belly wouldn’t role fa’ her at twelve O’clock

Granny’s Aluminum pot kick steam
like a cho, cho train from Kingston to Mo-bay
sweet potatoes, yellow yam, Scallion and thyme
O! This baby was mine

Why did she put me in this position, she, cause me to do this.
Before she stay in her coup… I was tempted beyond temptations

Jumping up and down in the pot
Corn meal dumplin getting happy
chicken legs, breast, back everybody
you could smell a feast worth fo’ a king miles away
cane juice in Milo tin……….. ready
the passe comin banana leaves
what- ever you the could find.
niger-itis didn’t come close
With a belly full we baptize in cool, cool river

We sweep the yard, carry water fa’ the drum
look wood for the fire, before mama come
when mama come from the market.
Miss Martha call, if anyone see her chicken
Boy! That was sad, Very, Very sad
we used the last little kerosene oil to make a torch
search way into the darkness of night, no luck.

"May the soul of dis foul falla who eva tak it"
said Mis Martha.
God! a hope he fallow me to school and du my math for me

About the author

Janet L.Harvey