Chickens Come And Go

Looking back at it, I am strangely compelled to move my jaw suddenly, towards the drawer. The mirror does not move at all except when. Dad has me think that I slipped and that it opened. To find one, and that I am shown it is a male chicken. The rooster was what he said. It is dad and inserts that finger directly into the chicken. He leads that to my cat. Don't cats eat chickens I ask? I ask how the chicken moves with no feet? Puppy style, which I saw out of my window when it was raining. Pop goes, the girl. He says. That was a weasel. The chicken is squeezed by the neck. It snaps my memories and felt the lip outside of me. And through the heart, I am pierced. The chicken more loudly, I shout. To be, the father! To be, Singing told the mischievous daughter, and oh, dad have mercy and have more chicken than I need right now. As for me dad and chickens, you have grown to know. And to think back to then I would ask? Dad when I grow up, why do all the chickens come and go?