farmville

you decide
to raise chickens
for a living.
you buy a few
from a farmer up
in purceville,
some brown hens.
a few white ones,
some roosters
too. you make a
little barn for them
in your back yard.
throw some straw
down, a pail of water
and scattter
some kernels of
corn about for their
lunch. you give
them names, like
norma and madge,
billie jean, and
cindy loo. you call
the rooster jimmy,
and his friend
clayton, farm
names. before
long they start
laying eggs like
nobody's business.
you're eating scrambled
eggs, egg salad
sandwichs for lunch.
poached eggs,
over easy and
eggs benedict.
you can't hard boil
them fast enough.
pancakes, french
toast. you have a
pile of eggs five
feet high in the yard
and they keep rolling
out of those chickens
like coins from a vegas
slot machine.
you check your cholesterol
count and it's out
the roof. your
doctor tells you that
it's time for the chickens
to go, but you can't
fry them up, you've become
close to them, so you
chase them out of
yard and wipe the tears from
your eyes as they
disappear into the woods
where you hear the foxes
cllinking their forks
and knives togther,
but you love the farm
life, and you wonder what
next. you go online
and investigate pigs.
you'd love a pulled pork
sandwich right about now,
so you give a call to your
bud up in purceville to
see if he can hook you up
with some fat porkers.
sure nuff, he says.
sure nuff. i'll bring the truck
around tomorrow.