Life is Poop
Campers scorn cow poop;
gardeners hate cat poop;
strollers despise dog poop.
Our spice of life was farm poop.
Stepfather John confessed a
Wyoming homestead childrens game:
brothers and sisters, children playing,
perched upon the chicken roost,
drawers down around their ankles,
poised above Mom's turkey chicks,
chanting along in sing-song:
"Sittin' on the chicken roost,
poopin' on the turkeys!"
My Methow Valley memories recall the snowdrift winters,
barn poop shoveled high beneath the shuttered window;
the dark pile steams in the early spring sunshine,
eager hens chattering, scratching and pecking.
Poop becomes soil,
rich in field and garden.
Life begats poop;
soil begats life.