Prufock's Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Red Wheelbarrow Glazed with Rain beside White Chickens
Piove molto ogni mattina;
c'e aqua nella piscina.
Servono pollo di mare.
Chi ci viene a trovare?
I
Let us go then, you and I,
As the stench spreads out around the sty
Like a drumstick decomposing on a table.
Let us go, through certain half-deserted coops,
Through mounds of chicken poop,
And farmhouse kitchens filled with roach motels
Just down the road from Haddam's Taco Bells.
II
The red wheelbarrow left out in the rain
Lingers in a pool that will not drain.
III
So much depends upon this easy tool
Though the help should use it, as a rule.
IV
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Should I push?" and "Should I push?".
Time to count the poultry in the bush.
V
I grow old...I grow old.
My sidedish is getting cold.
VI
Dare I dine upon a nugget? Dare I take the chance?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, like Colonel Sanders' pants.
VII
But though I have wept and ordered, wept and paid,
Though I have seen my hens brought in upon a platter,
I have seen the hot coils of the broiler flicker
And I have seen the short-order cook hold his nose, and snicker,
And, in short, I felt filleted.
VIII
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare the livers and the meat;
There will be time to slowly marinate,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That softly slop some gravy on your plate.
IX
So much depends upon this deep-fried scene...
Oh do not ask just what I mean.
X
Oh do not ask, "What is squawking?".
Let us go and keep on walking.
XI
I should have been a pair of chicken feet
Dangling from a butcher's hook.
XII
In the yard the chickens come and go
Flapping as the randy roosters crow.
XIII
And I have heard them, heard them all.
I have heard white chickens call.
I am not a farmer, nor was meant to be.
I do not think these chickens cluck for me.
Michael Juster, Boston
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