We built you a gorgeous run and coop,
and yet, on the deck: poop.
We are fierce. We chase bugs.
We storm your house: poultry thugs.
A rainbow of chickens: black and white and yellow-red-heather,
Each lady different, still birds of a feather.
A cat in repose, soaking sunlight, ignores you,
reminiscing: you could have been a morsel of food.
Swooping low, a flycatcher’s lunch is made
Below, a hen bawks her territorial tirade.
If ever a list of noble creatures were made,
Surely, my flock, you’d be somewhere toward the middle.
Chickens eat bugs and leaves and flowers and scraps,
and when I get lucky, they snuggle in my lap.
Look, girls, I know you’re fast becoming chooks,
But must you leave feathers everywhere I look?
and yet, on the deck: poop.
We are fierce. We chase bugs.
We storm your house: poultry thugs.
A rainbow of chickens: black and white and yellow-red-heather,
Each lady different, still birds of a feather.
A cat in repose, soaking sunlight, ignores you,
reminiscing: you could have been a morsel of food.
Swooping low, a flycatcher’s lunch is made
Below, a hen bawks her territorial tirade.
If ever a list of noble creatures were made,
Surely, my flock, you’d be somewhere toward the middle.
Chickens eat bugs and leaves and flowers and scraps,
and when I get lucky, they snuggle in my lap.
Look, girls, I know you’re fast becoming chooks,
But must you leave feathers everywhere I look?
