The Irony of Eggs
Stepping outside, into the oven
my in-laws’ suburban backyard
I urge the jumpy dog to pee
the dog, barking, scratches earth
sniffs the sun-baked bushes
a terrier bred to hunt mice
I peek through the shrubs
a small scared rodent, I guess
hugs a branch, perfectly still
breath held, heart swelled
no—instead, a chicken roosts
a fluffy, red-feathered hen
warming a wood-chip nest
even as the terrier growls
a foot—only inches away
Back inside, the dog dragged in
my wife, my in-laws cluck
chickens themselves on the couch
growling dog, roosting bird
surprised, my wife, my in-laws
race outside, each amazed
each a circle of air: Poor hen
my wife fetches a kitchen bowl
water brims its round rim
my wife’s mother sprinkles crust
last night’s challah in the dust
my father-in-law, the retired vet
blinks, scratches his own bald egg
where on earth that crazy bird…?
Too hot outside to hover
we go inside to eat, dinner
now ready, we sit, we begin
our fortnightly negotiation
Who wants a breast?
Who wants a wing?
The Dirty Napkin, 2009
