The Chicken House at Night
A Herculean beetle with black curved horns
stands at attention on a post, and the air—
full of summer and dark—wraps sentinel corn,
line by line in green swallow-tailed uniforms.
Crepe myrtles arch backyard boundary lines,
pink blooms flaring under the vigilant stare
of the moon, and heavy toads parade from ivy vines,
patrolling grassy fields at rest beneath the pines.
The chicken house cloisters a consort of red hens,
sleeping heads bowed, bony feet tucked,
but one red hen roams the grounds, extends
her wings, a night-yard queen—she clucks.