The Chicken Farm Sestina by Joe Amaral (Appeared in the January 2010 Issue) The old man arises on the farm To the red rooster’s crowing Sunlight filters in through the Stained windows and he grabs His cane to go work the soil He has lived on for ninety years It is now a small family operation, as many years Have passed and the once mighty farm Has become less fertile, the soil Hard and compact, the black caw of the crow Foreshadowing death’s hand as it reaches to grab This ancient fortress and convert the Acreage into several city condos that the Developers have been salivating over for years My grandfather refuses to leave, gripping His cane firmly, limping amongst crumbled barns To plow fields, collect hen eggs and row The plots of crops fighting to ripen in ragged soil Three generations have worked this land But they have all moved on to the Big city life, where nary a cock’s crow Can be heard, each aging new year Bringing more dust and disrepair to the farm Which once was glorious, and now up for grabs I go to visit him, grabbing A shovel and digging into the soil Returning to the simple life of a farmer Toiling steadily, sweating in the Noonday sun, recalling those years When I arose to that early cock-a-doodle-do Today the chickens are mostly gone, the crow Of a solitary rooster grabs My heartstrings as I realize the years Have finally caught up to this magical place, the soiled Old man still steadfastly waters the Remaining life on his endangered old farm The farm that will soon utter its last ghostly crow When the final crop harvest is grabbed and The old man returns to the soil he has haunted for years
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