Why did the chicken cross the road? When
in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, to get
to the other side. But when she is feeling better,
she ambles lighter and for lesser causes. Sometimes
just to shift her feathers. You can not really die
by cause of riding high, by cause of passing well
from one encounter to the next, from sign to sign.
Roll, red faced, like planets roll, fat in the dream
of time. You can not die by cause of riding
high, though you may feel it. Why did the chicken
put feet to the street? To survive it. The road
is long, but it is not wide. You can live through it.

Even unwebbed toes tread the moat, we note,
and laugh on the other side.











From Poetry Magazine, Vol. 186, no. 4, JulyÔÇôAugust 2005. Used with permission.