What struck me first was their panic.
Some were pulled by the wind from moving
to the ends of the stacked cages,
some had their heads blown through the bars-
and could not get them in again.
Some hung there like that - dead -
their own feathers blowing, clotting
in their faces. Then
I saw the one that made me slow some -
I lingered there beside her for about 5 miles.
She had pushed her head through the space
between bars - to get a better view.
She had the look of a dog in the back
of a pickup, that eager look of a dog
who knows she's being taken along.
She craned her neck.
She looked around, watched me, then
strained to see over the car - strained
to see what happened beyond.
That is the chicken I want to be.
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