Food for Thought

Henry McNeally sat whittling one evening on his porch,
Humming quietly, he watched the sky to the north;
Out of nowhere came a bright flash of light,
Something exploded several hundred feet above his head with such brilliance and terrible might.

The concussion blast knocked him to the ground, off his rocking chair,
As every window in his farmhouse shattered, he kept his hands over his head and remained there;
After long minutes, Henry stood up, and looked around,
His farm was intact, but debris from the barns and trees was all over the ground.

Gaping in wide-eyed wonder at the Earth and sky,
Henry thanked God that he did not die;
Whatever it was, be it meteor or lightning,
He was grateful he was alive, although it had been very frightening.

Albeit late, the old man set to cleaning the mess,
He knew he would not be able to sleep, so he thought it best;
After an hour, he paused in his cleaning poise,
Although he lived alone, he thought he heard whispering...or some other chattering noise.

When no knew sound was heard, he set back to work, removing the junk until it was all gone,
Wiping a brow, he realized that it was dawn;
Knowing that he could not sleep with the sun shining through,
It was all right, because he had another chore to do.

Grabbing his Bowie knife and a sharpened ax,
Henry flung a bloodstained pail over his back;
Entering the barn, he stared at Betsy, his old milking cow,
She had dried up, and was only good for slaughter now.

Grimacing, he thought he had seen the bovine's eyes go wide in fear,
But he shook his head; she could not know why he was here;
Setting down the pail underneath her chin,
He raised the Bowie knife to her throat to begin.

PLEASE HENRY, DON'T DO IT! came a feminine whine,
Henry spun around, looking for the source, thinking he was losing his mind;
Nervously glancing down, he saw intelligence in the cow's eyes,
Then the intelligence turned devious, as he could see HE was who she despised!

She snarled, YOU THINK YOU CAN SIMPLY CUT MY THROAT?
Henry backed away in his paramount fear, tripping, he saw the goat;
YOU WOULD SPILL OUR BLOOD, EAT OUR MEAT! cried the goat in a man's raspy voice,
The cow and the goat moved toward him, their red, mad eyes very moist.

NO! STAY BACK! Henry warned, but he had lost his instruments of slaughter,
Turning to flee, he saw the turkey, hog, and the sheep, and it made him falter;
WE HAVE BEEN YOUR FOOD FOR TOO LONG! raged the ewe,
Henry shrieked wildly and scrambled through.

Outside, he paused, looking disbelievingly at the crimson sky,
Then hooves, beaks, teeth, and claws were clamoring on his back, and he fell to the dirt with a cry;
The thing in the sky gave the farm animals an advantage with the intelligence it brought,
And with that intellect, one thing was clear: HENRY was going to be the NEXT food for thought!