I want a coffee cup with chickens,
like I used to have or gave
to a girl
to imagine
married life with me.
How good it would be.
With a long view from the window
and one or two clouds
(but no chickens,
just the idea of them).
Now, married
with children (no chickens),
in the city not the country,
I can see life with me
is a fifty-fifty
proposition –
and less than that if you want
big bucks or chickens.
(Some do.)
Or a man who’s not cranky.
(Some do.)
Still, it’s good to remember
how I hoped it would be
(and is)
so I’m going to track down that cup.
Here in this city I’m sure there’s a cup
with chickens.
