This morning the chickens
squealing, cackling
amongst themselves --
was there a rift?
Will a hit be ordered?
Are these Mafia chickens?
Frances said: They're pissed.
They want to be let out.
She hopped the electric fence,
maneuvered a latch.
Last I saw she held one
not quite as a child
but a chicken.
An innocent, happy bird.
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