Thursday, February 9, 2017

Just Us and the Chickens


Not living as long as we do, 
Chickens do not have the time 
Nor our bird-brained inclination 
To piddle over whether or not 
There’s some kind of god working 
Wonders way up there above the weather; 
You can see an example of this 
When their gullets are parched 
And the nearest watering 
Hole’s dry as all get-out, 
Soon as they hear the rumbling 
Of nimbuses rolling their way, 
Straightaway they tilt 
Their dusty, wide-open beaks 
Upwards, look God square 
In the face and before you 
Know it—by thunder— 
Start gurgling 

Grace. 


No comments:

Post a Comment