blason de la poule

her feet are two twig fingers grasping at grass

her legs support an ark that tips like a

theme park ride, frequently stuck


her feathers are packed like fresh snow

her tail rises like an A300’s vertical stabilizer

her chest puffs like a circus strongman’s


her comb is a wavy cartoon mohawk

her wattle is a red rubber mask

with hanging jowl discs


her wide-open eyes have a dust brown 

perimeter; she jolts her neck and tilts 

one at you like this is an interrogation


her mouth is a broken duckbill 

her No. 2 pencil-coloured underbite hangs 

under slit nostrils and royal ridge nose 


her wings flap like she’s just realized gravity’s threat 

she flies a few meters but stumbles like a clumsy owl

David Alexander is a Toronto-based poet and nonprofit leader. His poems have appeared in Lemon Hound, subTerrain and The Steel Chisel. In 2014 he was shortlisted for Arc Poetry Magazine’s Poem of the Year and The Walrus Poetry Prize. He is author of the chapbooks Chicken Scratch from Puddles of Sky Press (2014) and Modern Warfare from Anstruther Press (2016)