Acknowledged: Their proximity seems necessary, those chickens.
But the neighbors have complained: They are too loud, those chickens.
Despite the rain and its picturesque glazing of farm implements,
they’re especially raucous when gathered in a crowd, those chickens.
Some point out that, in this residential neighborhood, there are laws
about keeping poultry. In short, they’re not allowed, those chickens.
We understand how much depends on every aspect of the scene.
And yes, we’d have felt bad had you disavowed those chickens.
Now that we think on it, it never was all about the wheelbarrow.
They owned that poem! And were god-damn proud, those chickens.
ANTONIA CLARK works as a medical writer and editor. She has taught poetry and fiction writing and is co-administrator of an online poetry forum, The Waters. She is the author of a chapbook, Smoke and Mirrors (Finishing Line Press, 2013), and the full-length poetry collection, Chameleon Moon (David Robert Books, 2014). Her poems and short stories have appeared in numerous print and electronic journals, including Anderbo, The Cortland Review, Eclectica, The Missouri Review, The Pedestal Magazine, Rattle, and Softblow. She loves French picnics and plays French café music on a sparkly purple accordion.