Wild

Boy

scrambles

grassy hillside bare

toes squish

gain purchase

dark brown earth.

Upturned red worms

curl,

seek darkness.

Ten fingers

claw

clumps of crabgrass

boy pulls himself

pushes off

mossy stump

runs down

fast

arms spinning

laughing

snorts of air

jumps sideways

dodging invisible foes

wind draws tears

down cheek

muddy red t-shirt

frayed edges

clings to slim torso

he runs

wild

climbs ancient oak tree

griping shreds of bark

ten fingers encircle 

long, sturdy limbs

he jumps,

pumping legs

smiling

flings himself in the air. . .

Stop that, Brian! It’s not safe. Get over here.

His mother

worry wearing thin

lines

puckering peach-tinted lips.

Brian

walks over

plunks down

on a brightly colored square of plastic

designed for easy assembly

so ten tiny fingers

will not get caught.

Brian

folds in on himself

swings his legs off the side of the bright plastic cube

absently kicking

his mom returning to her paperback

…

Ten baby chickens

snuggled inside

high metal wall

watering tub home

nestle

under heat lamp waves.

Personalities, silent

make startling proclamations

when ten baby chicks

are released

into the yard.

Let the real sun

which has made a welcome April appearance

warm them.

White tiny ball of feathers

jumps from my hand

flaps wings

lands on

sweet summer grass

dashes right, left

chirping like a car alarm.

Grey one,

dark streaks

smudged eyeliner

reminds me of Flock of Seagulls.

She runs

directly to the highest point

caws loudly.

Orange baby chick

neat white, brown and tan spots

sports shinny black tail feathers clumped together

a blunt triangle

like a rudder propelling her

dashes madly,

stops so suddenly

you can almost hear the cartoon screeeech!

Black baby chick

red and green undertones

that shimmer in sunlight

runs in circles

flaps her wings

peep-peeping.

Grey and silver chick

silently

stretches each wing methodically

flaps one then the other

slowly.

Brown and black baby chick

leaps

pecks at a blade of grass that arches

over her. 

She is determined. 

Hop-hop-hop.

She rests.

Begins again.

Finally, snatches the tip mid-hop.

Triumphant, she scoots off

pecking at an ant carrying a cracker crumb.

Sun dims

shadows cool air,

one by one

I place them back

inside watering tub home.

They collapse

a collage of colors

clustered under

amber heat lamp light.

They do not run or chirp

They do not scratch cedar chips

do not stretch wings.

They fold in on themselves.

I watch ten baby chicks

silent in a safe contained tub.

I remember

hold dear

rowdy, loud children

grass in hair

dirt on face

laughing madly as they climb

with reckless abandon

to the edge of tree limbs

swaying under the weight

as they climb, climb, climb.