two big chickens 

I.
we took the chickens to your friends farm in the 
metal cage with newspaper lining. on the jeep-ride over,
their wispy half-down-half-grown-up feathers
blew around like dead-leaf tornadoes. i tried to catch
a few & stuffed them into my pockets to keep in your memory.
the chickens were a 5th grade class project with names. 
Bob & Lumpy (lumpy named for the bumps across his egg).
i had known all along that they would eventually get
too big for us to keep. they lived in the attic when 
the weather outside was dreary & i imagine them
scanning the toy shelves with the plastic dinosaurs
as they paced, cage metal rattling. did they take
inventory when i was gone? counting the iguanodons 
& t-rexs? did they see Billy's match box cars?
hypothesizing that maybe they were normal cars just
very far away. the chickens are dead now (i assume) but 
i like to think that on occasion a memory of me
flickered in them. maybe of my blue knit hat or
my pink hands that holding them when they were small
& not too big.

II.
the chickens we raised when i was in 5th grade 
keep growing. too big for the cage, they break
the metal mesh & the feed bowl spills everywhere
across the green carpet. we forgot about them 
in the attic after all of these years. i'm 21 now.
they took notes from the dinosaurs. 
we should all take notes from dinosaurs, let the scales
increase across flesh, feet take claws & press
fossils into the dirt yard. with their beaks
they puncture the windows, flutter out
into the driveway where my car is running for
me to drive home. they peck the bumper, swallow
the tailpipe. i try to apologize but they're not
having it, they want to take something first, like
most of us do when we feel hurt. i close my eyes
& hold out my hands & wait for them to be small
for me again. i tell them they are the perfect size.