Poultry Identity Disorder

Cluck cluck said the duck
Just barely abashed
Cluck cluck said the duck
For he was trashed

Whenever he partook
Of too much good brew
He always mistook
Whether to quack or to coo

So he'd cluck or he'd caw
And sometimes he'd hoot
Or he'd scratch with his paw
In it's web-footed boot

On special occasions
He'd let out a gobble
Then run for his life
Midst a Thanksgiving squabble

On the nights that he honked
There was great confusion
Just how did it start
This poultry collusion?

You knew that he'd had
Too much drink when
His head faked bad
The bouncy bob of a hen

He always would say,
In the morning hungover,
He'd change his bad ways
And he'd mean it moreover

But you couldn't believe
Ol' likeable Chuck
He just didn't perceive
He was only a duck

Still he'd paddle away
Each morning early
Reluctant to stay
With his head going whirly

And upon arriving home
To his slovenly nest
He'd brush out his comb
And lay down to rest

Oh, if you do pause
At a comb on a drake
It's simply because
It's easier to fake

It's easier I say
Because as you see
This Rhode Island Red
Lays tipsy eggs for me

by Rik Goodell

Cropped study of "Rhode Island Red" by Rlimrickart