blason de la poule

her feet are two twig fingers grasping at grass

her legs support an ark that tips like a

theme park ride, frequently stuck

 

her feathers are packed like fresh snow

her tail rises like an A300’s vertical stabilizer

her chest puffs like a circus strongman’s

 

her comb is a wavy cartoon mohawk

her wattle is a red rubber mask

with hanging jowl discs

 

her wide-open eyes have a dust brown 

perimeter; she jolts her neck and tilts 

one at you like this is an interrogation

 

her mouth is a broken duckbill 

her No. 2 pencil-coloured underbite hangs 

under slit nostrils and royal ridge nose 

 

her wings flap like she’s just realized gravity’s threat 

she flies a few meters but stumbles like a clumsy owl

Published online May 03 2016.

David Alexander is a Toronto-based poet and nonprofit leader. His poems have appeared in Lemon Hound, subTerrain and The Steel Chisel. In 2014 he was shortlisted for Arc Poetry Magazine’s Poem of the Year and The Walrus Poetry Prize. He is author of the chapbooks Chicken Scratch from Puddles of Sky Press (2014) and Modern Warfare from Anstruther Press (2016)


Poetry Only cover image

This piece was published in ‘Poetry Only,’ the Spring 2016 issue of CV2.

Get more great poetry, interviews, and reviews delivered straight to your door four times a year. Subscribe now.