When Barbara Temperton and I read at The Gods in Canberra, as mentioned here December 14, I read A Letter to My Chooks as a challenge to the audience to 'pick' which poem was by Barbara and not by myself. You with me so far? I promised to display it, so here it is - a crackerjack poem, one of a series of chook poems at her blog.
Please don’t poop on the doormat.When you wake at 4am –and the moon floatson a luminous cloud –please don’t practise the lyricsof your favourite songs.
My aspidistra was placed outsidefor sunshine – not for you.Your menu consists of laying pellets,kitchen scraps and wheat.
The seat, my seat, situated outsidethe front door, catches the firstof the morning’s rays. I enjoycoffee and newspaper in that chair.Please inform the rooster, the cocky onewith the crooked spur, not to perch there –evidence is difficult to discover in the dark.
Yours faithfully seems a token gesturewhen my fine new boots, and Levi’s , are wetand pegged on the clothes linein the moonlight.
I’ll mail this letter in the morning –nail it, in fact – with recipes for à la Kingand cacciatore, to the handle of the blunted,rusted axe leaning against the woodshed door.