The Chicken

for emily, whom i’ve always loved

The Chicken comes by day, she’s hungry.

From your street she left, empty beaked.

The Chicken comes by night, she’s hunting.

The Chicken’s claw discriminates not.

The Chicken’s heart is cold, unyielding.

The Chicken’s beak cares not what it pecks.

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Your urban plot has tamed her roost;

You penned her coup but not her heart.

Your fields were once all hers alone;

Your flowers ate she stem to bloom.

Away it went with one lap of your plow —

Earth to grey mulch, hard pellets that never sprout.

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Her perch left empty these years past.

Forgotten, you thought away she would stay.

Yet hear her caw, her bwak comes nigh.

You’ll rue the day you tamed her roost!

The Chicken comes by day, she’s hungry.

The Chicken comes by night, she’s hunting —

you.

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One thought on “The Chicken

  1. Pingback: Farewell Fair-Feathered Friends | Being the Carruths

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