A group of elegantly dressed women crowds around the speaker, and the poem sees them almost entirely as birds. Their puffed-out dresses, powdered faces and tall, feathered headpieces make them look like a flock of hens, and their chatter becomes "clucking." The comparison is funny, but it isn't kind.
The speaker never says outright how they feel, yet the word "flock" and the image of being surrounded suggest someone who feels hemmed in, maybe overwhelmed or faintly amused. The women seem to be all show: the powder, the bulk of the dresses and the feathers piled "high above their heads" make them look more like decoration than real people. Nobody gets a name or a voice, only noise.
The mood is playful and a little mocking, with an edge of discomfort. The short lines keep things quick and crowded, like the fluttering of the scene itself, and the poem ends on the towering feathers, leaving us with a picture that is both ridiculous and slightly oppressive.