Chickens

Chickens

When I was five we lived on the Oregon coast

We were coming back from Tillamook to Bay City

My aunt and uncle lived up on a hillside

We all were poor, their house nothing but a shack

I loved to go there, the chickens roamed on the table

a dog was on a chain, a chicken tied around is neck

I cried, but he had killed that chicken, this his punishment

As our car rounded a curve I heard my mother scream,

"Bill's house is on fire!"

Rising through the night flames rose to the sky!

Black smoke billowed in a thick, stinking fog

Chickens scurried, hurried, clucking up a storm

Dog got loose and seized the opportunity 

grabbing a rooster and then cowering for a kick

No firemen came, it was unincorporated and after all

it was only a pathetic little shack where no one cared

I cried and sobbed and for that I got a heavy slap

I can still see those yellow flames and chickens running