Chicken Poop

everything came from the back door a peace offering sandwich something to be lost on the clothes line and when the door slamed close chickens scramed with their necks crained back in their traditional drinking mode the sound of the back door latch was forever in thier collective memories handed down in their genes the door shut as they drank their last their soft fluffy feathers turned to down thoughts left on trianged ground like the hard edges of earth was the cure mixed with ash from cooking fires their poop was like sin and cancer combined scraped from the feet of snotty nosed boys corpes stacked like the forgiveness of all on weathered picnic tables feathered as if a calibration for nutrition was calculated in pounds of chicken heads feathers, bodies and poop