...for the city types out there if you have never fed hens then the poem is not the same... often hens just walk about... (free range) or times they are in a little pen, thankfully the practice of keeping them in a factory environment is being phased out by law here in Europe. Anyway when you go to feed them with food scaps or meal they all run to join the fray and to an extent are like dogs, they'll stand there waiting. It is this 'audience' that is the genesis of the poem... :-)

 
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Hens cocks and bantyhens

lend me your ears.

Such an attentive audience.

Running in adulation

as soon as I appear,

feels like jesus or god or holy ghost.

Poet meal person = importance,

ego rising, puffing out …sound check;

impersonating the cock, mid morning,

jumping up on buildings,

crowing, my heart on my sleeve.

Juxtaposed in amongst the hens,

an undercover poet,

not laying nor performing,

a dead giveaway.