Friday, September 9, 2011

A poem about chickens. Huzzah!



The chick in the egg picks at the shell, cracks open one
        oval world, and enters another oval world.

“Cheep… cheep… cheep” is the salutation of
        the newcomer, the emigrant, the casual at the gates
        of the new world.

“Cheep… cheep” … from oval to oval, sunset
        to sunset, star to star.

It is at the door of this house, this teeny weeny egg-
        shell exit, it is here men say a riddle and jeer each
        other: who are you ? where do you go from here?

(In the academies many books, at the circus many sacks
        of peanuts, at the club rooms many cigar butts.)

“Cheep… cheep” … from oval to oval, sunset
        to sunset, star to star.


6 comments:

Puss In Boots said...

Damnit. Now I want a roast chicken. :( I'm on a fasting diet for the next week and a half. I predict I will be hallucinating that people look like giant roast chicken legs soon.

Ramon Insertnamehere said...

Puss!!

Long time, no type.

Married yet?

Melbourne Girl said...

Ramon, being a boy you may have missed the obvious subtext in Puss's comment. My interpretation is fasting diet for a week and a half = wedding soon?

Alex said...

My interpretation is fasting diet for a week and a half = wedding soon?

Oh, thank Christ. My immediate thought was surgery. Got a bit worried there.

Kettle said...

Now I want a roast chicken.

Makes me want to open a club and start smoking cigars (anyone?).

Hey Puss, if the wedding is on in a week and a half, all the very best. Have a blast.

squib said...

Makes me want to open a club and start smoking cigars (anyone?).

Count me in!