He holds the knife behind his back,
holds the chicken gingerly by her beak.
He looks up at me
deep breath
looks down at the chicken.
Okay missy.
She's upside-down in an orange construction cone.
She was easy to catch, slow, sick.
He looks up at me,
looks down at the chicken.
Knife steady but still,
behind his back.
Wind chills my fingers
wrapped firm around her legs.
I can feel her heartbeat.
There is a scar on the bottom of one foot.
Okay missy.
Deep breath.
Okay.
He looks up at me, shakes his head.
The knife handle is warm from his hand.
The light is failing, cold night coming on fast.
Deep breath.
The blood runs hot into the bucket.
I can feel my heart beating.
