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
Copyright © Sherry Asbury | Year Posted 2018
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