Poem: Novenary with Hens (A Revision)

Novenary with Hens

I couldn’t count to ten till I turned eleven.
The chicks were soft and yellow. One was jet.
One, two, buckle my shoe, nine and a big fat hen.

They scratched the grass beside the shop for men.
They were the best present a boy could get.
I couldn’t count to ten till I turned eleven.

Mother called out from above. That was when
I stepped back—three, two, one—and on my pet.
One, two, buckle my shoe, nine and a big fat hen.

The grass turned black. Its head was not broken.
Father could fix it but he was not home yet.
I couldn’t count to ten till I turned eleven.

The Shopgirl cried out, Poke the thing back in!
The tiny mitten was mewing for its gut.
One, two, buckle my shoe, nine and a big fat hen.

My hands did what the Shopgirl said. Even then,
I couldn’t save it. Now I can’t forget
I couldn’t count to ten till I turned eleven.
One, two, buckle my shoe, nine and a big fat hen.

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