St Maurice's High School: Katie O'Connor

 

 

Chickens

We call her Lola.
The youngest, the most active, the most mischievious.
She's huge, the biggest of the three.
At first,
Nervous - you couldn't touch her.
Now,
we experience the soft texture of the light terracota feathers,
We feel the muscle and fat rippling under our fingertips.
She's only a baby,
You can tell - yellow beak, yellow feet.
No eggs just now.

We call her Petal.
She likes to run,
You can hear the click of her claws hitting the path.
Her feathers are firm, an auburn colour.
Her tail is soft, an ivory shade.
She loves a cuddle, the heat close, her heart close,
Feel her heartbeat against yours.
She's fairly small, boulder size.
The eggs, her eggs,
Light orange shells,
Bright yellow yolk.
The taste of perfection,
Though not seasoned.

We call her Henny Penny.
She's the motherly one, petite, anxious.
She sunbathes in the dirt,
An unfortunate stench afterwards.
Dark brown feathers - tough,
Frail bones underneath.
She likes to make noise, clucking.
It's not loud.
Her pale eggs produced are large,
Once a double yolker.


by Katie O'Connor