mmmmciii

Snuffle Fluffed, or
Chicken Avenged

Quite a kerfuffle,
the sneezin’ and
wheezin’ that rings
in the ears. Been

cooped up so that
I live in a bubble.
But sometimes
that bubble’s a

bubble of bones,
not anything so
light and airy as
feathers – check

out how fine are
mine. But back
to the sputterin’
and noisy con

gestion, the hacks
and the cackles
with round about
half of the coop

filled with snotty
hens lying flat on
their backs. I
couldn’t even step

sidewise without
a spittin’ attack,
and let me tell
you that chicken

phlegm is a rotten
thing to find upon
one’s ruffled-up
feathers, yes sir,

it’s disgustin’,
there’s no way
around it. So
what am I gonna

do, I thought, as
I twisted in circles
in the noon-day
heat just to avoid

all the sick chicks?
And I kept that
routine ’cuz it’s
true, get over it,

we chicks like a
dumb routine
every now and
again, it’s a great

way for a chicken
to meditate. And
that’s when it hit
me, or after about

a hundred or so
of clawing out
circles in the
fenced-in dirt.

I’ll escape! But
how? And wouldn’t
you know it, I flapped
these gorgeous arms

of mine and without
even a skip and a jump
I started to rise. What
a bunch of lies we’ve

been fed. To think,
a chicken can actually
fly? Well, this gobbler
did. Don’t even ask

me where I think I
am at the moment.
All I can say is that
this happy bird has

done flown the coop.
And don’t you even
think I’ll be back. No
more pullets for me.

Who needs roosters
anyway. Those old
wardens can find
their eggs down at

Quail Ridge or Pea
hen Bluff or perhaps
down in the swampy
pond from those

crooked ducks. Or,
or – and this has me
gigglin’ so hard that
I’m almost cacklin’ –

for all I care they
can head down to
the other end of the
world and make peace

with an ostrich or three.
That certainly would be a
deliciously spiteful thing
to see. If you ask me.