Calamity Chick: Re[tro]specting Chicken Little

We grew so weary of that chick
and her daily doomsday trip,
crossed to the other side of the street
whenever she appeared.

She bustled into our yard one day,
puffed up, big-bosomed beauty,
cackling in her cone-shaped voice
so all the countryside could hear:

Snares, fire, brimstone rain;
The pillars of heaven shake!

I must say, she knew how to strut—
all red-feathered fluffery & piercing eyes—
enough to make her daily grind
more winsome than our pecking dirt.

Her eyes gazed always on the clouds
or falling stars while the rest of us
kept our beaks close to the ground,
doing what seemed right before our eyes.

What shall we do? Where shall we flee?
No rest, no rest, the end is near!

Sometimes she seemed to see beyond
our narrow grief, but took to clucking on
about some wild idea—the end of life
and our impending doom.

Marsha Schuh earned her MFA in Poetry at California State University, San Bernardino, where she taught English for a number of years. She is now retired, allowing her to spend more time with her family and to enjoy reading, writing, longarm quilting, and traveling. Marsha’s poetry has appeared in Inlandia Journal, Sand Canyon Review, Carnival, Found Poetry Review and several other publications. She and her husband Dave live in Ontario, CA.