—Davis, California

Stepping outside, into the oven
my in-laws’ suburban backyard
I urge the jumpy dog to pee
the dog, barking, scratches earth
sniffs the sun-baked bushes
a terrier bred to hunt mice
I peek through the shrubs
a small scared rodent, I guess
hugs a branch, perfectly still
breath held, heart swelled
no—instead, a chicken roosts
a fluffy, red-feathered hen
warming a wood-chip nest
even as the terrier growls
a foot—only inches away

Back inside, the dog dragged in
my wife, my in-laws cluck
chickens themselves on the couch
growling dog, roosting bird
surprised, my wife, my in-laws
race outside, each amazed
each a circle of air: Poor hen
my wife fetches a kitchen bowl
water brims its round rim
my wife’s mother sprinkles crust
last night’s challah in the dust
my father-in-law, the retired vet
blinks, scratches his own bald egg
where on earth that crazy bird . . . ?

Too hot outside to hover
we go inside to eat, dinner
now ready, we sit, we begin
our fortnightly negotiation
Who wants a breast?
Who wants a wing?