Free Range Chickens
Richard Dinges Jr.
Our flock of laying hens
dwindles each year, to half
the flurry of feathers
and cackles. I do not
see them leave or die.
They just fail to return
to roost at sundown,
fade away like old
soldiers, unlike guineas
that spontaneously
combust into a pile
of feathers somewhere
in the fields. I prefer
to think they move on,
catch a ride from
a passing trucker, test
their free range status
and head south,
or north, to follow
Canadian geese.
Those smart chickens
must have learned to fly,
set my imagination free,
and then never write home.
dwindles each year, to half
the flurry of feathers
and cackles. I do not
see them leave or die.
They just fail to return
to roost at sundown,
fade away like old
soldiers, unlike guineas
that spontaneously
combust into a pile
of feathers somewhere
in the fields. I prefer
to think they move on,
catch a ride from
a passing trucker, test
their free range status
and head south,
or north, to follow
Canadian geese.
Those smart chickens
must have learned to fly,
set my imagination free,
and then never write home.
Richard Dinges, Jr. works on his homestead beside a pond, surrounded by trees and grassland, with his wife, two dogs, two cats, and six chickens. Alembic, Jonah Magazine, Nebo, Hurricane Review, and Illuminations most recently accepted his poems for their publications.
