Hierarchy

I heard the tale of a chicken named Diesel
Whose farmer had to put a handmade cone on her head
To keep her from diving headfirst into the active exhaust pipe
Of their blue Toyota Tacoma.
Best guess, by the farmer
Was that the pipe resembled the feed dispenser
And the chicken thought herself the discoverer
Of a secret and private restaurant.
All were in awe of Diesel’s passionate enthusiasm
For carbon monoxide
Her single minded pursuit of suicide
In a quest for some small comfort.
It is my ambition not to go hurling myself into tailpipes
In the next decade, but really—
What else is there to do in life?
One can only spend so much time pecking corn
And any hobby will kill you slowly.
Repeatedly copying
What activities brought me pleasure in the past
has been my strategy
For surviving domestication.
I guess the only other role model in this story
Is a farmer who made a plastic cone
To save a feathered renegade from herself.
Perhaps, that will keep me busy.
And if I profit from an egg or two
That I didn’t lay—perhaps, that will extend my life
Such as it is.

*

Porsche Jones is a writer and artist living in Manchester NH. In 2025 she was published in Death Wish Poetry Magazine, Wayfarer, 100subtexts and Last Stanza Poetry Journal. Recently she has won the 2025 Slam Free or Die Wheel Poetry Slam Championship. Her work deals with queer love and nightlife, womanhood, being an artist, class issues, disability, and her relationship to the earth.