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.