When I first read the poem, I had to Google what pullets were. I loved the line "Women cluck like starved pullets" but after I found out they were hens, I loved it even more. Women cluck...they gossip, they talk, they giggle...they cluck.
Women cluck like starved pullets
when shame comes to town. Whether it's the tattoos
and piercings of Janis Lee's boyfriend Stu,
with the skull clad motorcycle helmet,
or Jimmy Smith staggering out of Ronny's
at four A.M.
They squawk octaves.
In the summer,
it'd be a chicken choir- Sally, Margaret and the others
dress high-waisted shorts and florescent tube tops rattle the pens
of sixty-year-old Montgomery natives, who still wear paisley hats
to nine A.M confessional, stay for coffee, sweet tea, and blueberry scones
with the Bridge Club.
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