One Poem by Allan Lake

 

Found Poultry

 

A nameless red hen,

inexplicably crossing

a busy road for no reason,

never stood still while

avoiding traffic or much

of a chance but a sliver

is sometimes just enough.

 

And proof is in the roosting – 

as opposed to roasting (post

pointlessly imagined impact)

chicken. Now you see it

roosting Not roasting,

clucking contentedly

back in its cosy hen-

house, hear it as well.

You really should not be

smelling or tasting fried

chicken at this point but

who am I to prevent you.

Allan Lake is a poet, originally from Allover, Canada, who now writes in Allover, Australia. Coincidence. His latest collection, published by Ginninderra Press, "My Photos of Sicily" contains no photos, only poems.