For the record, we will stipulate that this is, in fact, a chicken, and not a quail of some kind.
Regardless of the bird’s provenance, what’s going on here would be macabre, if not for the oomph that Nawlins puts into everything. The meaning’s not buried, is it? Even though King Ro soon will be?
In the finest tradition of the Crescent City, our bird struts down Bourbon Street, backed by the swingingest dixieland combo. While the bass drum pounds and the clarinet soars, King Ro heads up his own funeral, thumbing his nose at old man Death even as the chains rattle. Finally, it’s “You want me? You got me!”
The king gives up the ghost, a smile on his beak. But don’t be blue. Ro wanted to end up this way, spinning upon the device whose name he bore. Besides, his spirit—that is to say, his taste—will last forever!