I jogged along a well built path
(music accompanying my ears).
A path paved in a park
(natured and forested);
When I noticed a loud cluck,
(from the right)
and jogged past a
rooster, a hen, a hen,
(with chicks beside).
My brain wandered to consider:
(as it does)
What if the chicken fell into the gutter:
Is it prisoner trapped,
of its own mistakes,
Or a distressed damsel
to await rescue.
What if the rain came:
Like, tides high and low,
yellow leaves become a muddy flow,
to drown or survive as poultry.
Unrealising the imminent doom,
before the slow dread
like being locked out of a room.
Perhaps we too, entrapped,
(I ponder)
can only look out at the gutter
and pray it doesn’t rain.
As my legs jog step by step,
the chicken flies over
the harmless gap.
Mood: A lighthearted one. Was out for a jog in west coast park, on a weekend afternoon