Chickens

Chickens When I was five we lived on the Oregon coast We were coming back from Tillamook to Bay City My aunt and uncle lived up on a hillside We all were poor, their house nothing but a shack I loved to go there, the chickens roamed on the table a dog was on a chain, a chicken tied around is neck I cried, but he had killed that chicken, this his punishment As our car rounded a curve I heard my mother scream, "Bill's house is on fire!" Rising through the night flames rose to the sky! Black smoke billowed in a thick, stinking fog Chickens scurried, hurried, clucking up a storm Dog got loose and seized the opportunity grabbing a rooster and then cowering for a kick No firemen came, it was unincorporated and after all it was only a pathetic little shack where no one cared I cried and sobbed and for that I got a heavy slap I can still see those yellow flames and chickens running