The Girls

The hens, called "the girls"

all acted pretty much the same-

see the white bucket, follow it around

see the greens, grains, grunge

beak to ground

cockroach coming, peck it

gecko running, grab it

Only one stood out,

brighter than the rest,

Silky her name,

she came running when called

fearless, calling her name, she calme like

a heroine-running full speed

to nab the centipede in the path, her bravery

alas led to her meeting a wild dog

Troubles came, when the l'il mites burrowed under feathers

blasting all girls covering them from head to toe

leading to a strong desire for sunshine and dirt baths

we built the chicken tunnel, keeping them safe from wild dogs

they would crawl ninja style through

the caged tunnel into sunlight

away from the shadowy trees over their pen

and into the hen spa to bask in the fire of the day

The glory—

collecting eggs of all colors

dark brown, light brown,

speckled brown, blue,

the egg carton always looked

so unique, no two alike

-from Weaving Green and other Poems from a Tropical Farm (soon to be published)