.........................
How superior these haughty chickens seem today,
Barely stepping out of my way
As I let myself into their domicile
With my self-consciously empty basket
And tin of milled corn,
Their brains all synchronized
To judge my unannounced appearance
An unjustified intrusion
On their Tao of hanging out . . .
The pungent spell of their sisterhood
As out of reach as Nirvana
To my anthropocentric dharma.
Excuse me, I hear myself implore,
But I am only here, as you may know,
To feed you and collect some eggs.
Their collective fluster
And dismissive glances
Turn a garish light
On my intrusion, recasting me
As a petty thief, out of options,
Risking everything for an egg,
(And let it be grade B!)
They co*k their heads this way and that
As if we are making a movie,
And I should enter again,
Only this time bow, hands together, as in prayer,
In yogic anjali mudra,
As if entering a temple
Where a golden Buddha presides in zazen
Watching over this drama for the ages.
Do you think it is easy to make an egg?
Do you think we do not know
How lost you are without us
With your self-conscious basket,
Hanging off your arm?
(Article changed on Jan 15, 2026 at 10:39 AM EST)
