New Chicken

New Chicken

She could

almost walk,

balance was a teeter,

just this side

of fall.

Barely past,

one year

old,

she understood

when spoken to,

but,

when she tried,

it seemed

 she was a better

walker.

On this day,

she reeled

in front of me,

the walking

was working,

but words

were

train

cars,

on an uneven track.

She’d turn her

head,

steal a look

up at me,

smile,

during the first

tour,

of her new home.

There were,

new floors,

new rooms,

new stairs,

new windows,

everything was new,

in the new house.

She knew,

as she guided me,

so proud,

was she,

as she led

the giant following her,

each step,

a daunting task,

an almost

crash.

She saved

the most exciting,

to take my

hand,

and push me,

into

the new chicken.

New chicken

was

new kitchen,

close, as she would get,

but,

close enough,

to make me smile,

then laugh,

as we stood,

almost fell,

inside,

beside

one another,

 in

new chicken,

Hayward 2006