The Yard Bird
By Chris McClure Contributing Editor
Grasshoppers and beetles, seeds, nuts and fruits, Contentedly clucking and picking at roots A gray-feathered hen wanders the yard.
An occasional squawk lets us know she’s disturbed, Probably by some other old bird that’s reaching for the same dainty morsel Out where paths cross there in their dusty domain.
A bright-feathered rooster sits up on the fence Signaling all that he’s their alarm if some lazy old cur Or, perhaps, slinking fox should wander into his keen sight.
The hen just keeps wandering, pecking at rocks To sit in her craw and act as a grindstone For the various things she finds on the ground.
Then under the fence that keeps the cows in The dusty old lot the feed troughs sit in she picks through the dust Until there in a pie a kernel of corn she does spy.
I’ve never been too fond of chicken.