Mealtime

Standard

I like to see my chickens;

My babies, my loves.

They are interesting creatures.

Unbothered by most,

But curious of everything.

 

At the shake of a bag,

They come charging.

“Worms, worms, worms!”

That’s what I assume is on their mind.

Stomp, stomp, stomp!

The little chicken is pecking at my leg now.

 

I throw a handful of mealworms on the floor.

They attack, not unlike their predecessors.

I ought to be playing the Jurassic Park soundtrack.

One second there are worms, and the next they’re gone.

And then they walk away, content until the next time.

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