This is the obituary of Jonnie the Cocker

He was a good cock,

A strong jogoo I would say
And I ate him
 

I remember him chasing our only hen

Too small for him I’d say but,
She still brought forth a small round egg
And I ate him
 

I remember that day, the day of the laying- in the evening

He stood outside the chicken house, unwilling to enter, confused
Unsure of the situation; peeping, sometimes staring-quite like the man he was Ha!
And I ate him
 

He was a strong one; that jogoo

A good one; Confident
Crowing at three then at four and then at six
But I ate him

 

On the day they hatched, he wasn't happy, he grumbled, he couldn’t stand the chicks

He trampled them and quarrelled their mother; her feathers were everywhere

Brutal bastard; my wife was mad
So I ate him

 

I remember the day I came home

The sufuria was full and the smell was lovely
‘There is your jogoo!’
And so I ate him

 

This is the obituary of Jonnie the cock

He was a strong jogoo
A good one

I ate him