Robins sing to other robins.
This means nothing to a jay.
Peacocks preen to please a pea hen.
Turkeys look the other way.
Roosters crow to rule a hen yard.
“What a racket,” neighbors say.
Poets write for other poets.
Any wonder it doesn’t pay?
Hank Johnson was born in New York City and raised there by musicians in a milieu of folk songs, old hymns, jingles, and tunes of bygone eras. He has taught at numerous colleges, directed a state arts council as well as a large urban chamber of commerce, and sold and restored old houses, all the while publishing plays, fiction, and poetry. He lives with his wife in Hebron, NY.