RJ Lambert sings the brawls of the bucolic scene, where cocks fight with men and time is measured by the lifespan of meat. This poem is memorable all the way through, strutting down the page with the swagger of a rooster and roosting in one’s mind like a catchy tune. Lambert’s herky-jerky rhythm is a knock-out punch, accentuating the weight of the verse’s many quotable lines while still floating effortlessly off the tongue. The poet has gained himself a new reader, and the English language a new puissant power ballad from the American pastoral.