Don’t Count Your Chickens Before Their Heads Are Cut Off

by Kathryn Smith

O my feathered
messes, o my downy
little fears, afraid
of airplanes,
afraid of
hoodies and shoebombs,
afraid
the sky is falling.
(The sky is falling.)
O my shellbound,
my skittering
clucks, the only
thing we have
to fear
is the dog intent on
evisceration
and our barn full
of axes.