I jogged along a well built path - music accompanying my ears.
A path paved in a park - natured and forested;
But i noticed a loud cluck, from the right
and jogged past a
rooster, a hen, a hen, with chicks beside.
My brain wandered to consider
What if the Chicken fell into the gutter?
Can it can fly out by itself?
A prisoner of its own mistakes, perhaps chickens help each other out
What if the rain came:
Like tides high and low
Yellow leaves become a muddy flow
To drown or survive as poultry
Unrealising a timely doom
The slow dread
Of being locked out of a room
Perhaps we too,
Can only look out at the gutter
And pray it doesn’t rain
As my legs jog step by step,
the chicken takes a short flight.
Mood: Out for a jog in west coast park, on a weekend afternoon